Zero One Arc: Book I: The Perfect Soldier
by The Manwell
Summary: What if Heero Yuy discovered he had a double? Possibly an identical twin? This is the supposition behind The Perfect Soldier which explores the hearts of the gundam pilots as they attempt to adapt to society. (Complete)
1. Prologue

**The Perfect Soldier**

A Gundam Wing Fan Fiction

Laboriously Composed by The Manwell

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Special thanks to Stellarbeams for always answering her telephone when I call instead of pretending to be in the bathroom or something…

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**Revised:** February 11, 2004 (Don't worry: just fixed some typos and funky sentences...)

**Warnings:** Adult Language, Mild Violence, Serious Angst, Vague Nudity, Miscellaneous other Adult Situations... Um, I _think_ that's about it. But really, how much more _could_ there be? I seem to have quite the list there...

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**.**

**Prologue**

A.C. 197, February 5

**.**

**            The night was** cold and silent, frozen in the crystalline frost that blanketed the exposed earth.  At home in the complete, death-like stillness of the winter darkness, the figure slipped across the clearing, deftly avoiding the sweeping spotlights.  Lifting a compact pair of infrared binoculars to cobalt eyes, he surveyed the extent of the base's guards.****

He counted only two and carefully noted their positions.  He didn't hesitate even though his instincts were telling him to stop, to turn around, to seek shelter.****

_There's no time for that.  And there's nowhere to seek shelter out here, anyway._****

So he pressed forward.  He scaled the eight-foot chain link fences, easily maneuvering around the sheer, looped razor-wire.  The soft thump of his feet hitting the ground on the other side didn't travel past his ears.  It took only a breath and a moment of motion and he was at the unguarded supply door.****

He kept low and still, staying clear of the arching, blue-white lights.  The seconds ticked by in his head as he waited for the lights to move away.  Once the night fell over him once more, he stood and punched in a set of seemingly random numbers into the door lock.****

Cobalt eyes narrowed as a yellow light blinked, processing the information.****

_This is the moment of truth.  This is when we find out if that "ghost" is really on our side._****

He stared at the lock as the yellow light flickered.  He braced himself for the sound of the alarm.  The stolen and secreted information continued to be savored by the machine, and he was nearly positive that the faceless, nameless spy had just signed his death certificate.****

_I know better than to trust unverified information._****

_But what choice do I have?  OZ must be eliminated._****

The yellow light shuddered once again.****

_Here it comes._****

And the green light flicked on.****

Cobalt eyes blinked as the sound of titanium locks slid out of their slots, releasing the door.****

The lights were sweeping toward him again.****

He slipped inside the building.****

It was darker in the supply hold than it was outside, under the stars, but he negotiated the arrangement of crates as if he'd put them there himself.  Within moments, he'd reached the main corridor.  He slipped a compact but powerful semi-automatic gun from the holster under his shoulder.   Now he hesitated in the doorway, listening for sounds to echo down the dimly lit halls.****

_This is too easy._****

He shook the thought away, but it persisted.****

_They've cleared a path for you._****

Cobalt eyes narrowed.  Clear path or no, he had accepted this mission, and he was going to finish it.  Nothing was going to stop him, no trap, no confinement, no weapon.****

That was a fact.****

He shrugged out into the hallway and turned left, toward the control room and the main computer's database.  The soft soles of his hiking boots made hardly a whisper of sound against the metal floors.  Uniform, slate-gray doors rolled past him as he tread down the hall.  The monotony of the base's layout helped him focus his thoughts on the room to the right, just ahead.****

The minutes counted off inside his head in silence.  He had precious little time to complete the first objective.  He paused at the intersection of the halls.****

He listened.****

He leaned around the corner.****

No one stood between him and the control room door.****

_Too easy.  Too easy._****

_That's irrelevant._****

He slipped into the hall and placed a hand on the door.  It swung open without protest.  He brought his firearm up and aimed inside of the room, prepared to fire at the first sign of the enemy.****

But the control room was deserted.****

_Get out.  Get out now.  This is too easy!_****

_No, I _will_ finish this mission._****

Softly, he closed the door behind him and approached the computer.  A few moments at the terminal were all that he needed to copy the data he required.  ****

Seven minutes had passed since he'd crossed the threshold into the cargo hold.****

He slipped the disk into his pocket and then proceeded to quickly erase all evidence of his passing.  The screen was set back to "rest" mode.  The chair righted.  He turned back to the door and lifted his gun.****

_They're waiting for you to come out._****

His eyes narrowed.  ****

His gloved hand went to the door.****

The metal portal swung open and he quickly poised himself for a fight.****

Nothing came out at him from the dim halls.****

Everything was quiet, serene... ****

_Abandoned!_****

He shook the thought aside and focused on his second—his last—objective.****

He disappeared around the bend in the corridor.

**.**

**            Heero Yuy pounded** on the massive door to the elaborate Darlian estate.  The cobalt-eyed pilot's every muscle threatened to tremble with impatience as he waited for the portal to open.  A low growl escaped a pale throat as an upraised fist pounded on the door yet again.  Cobalt eyes glanced at a black wrist-watch.  It was nearly midnight.****

_Dinner finished only two hours ago... what in the hell are they doing in there?_****

The door swung open.****

An icy stare met the mellow look on Pargan's face.  "Ah, Mr. Yuy, please come in."****

Heero marched into the foyer, sweeping past Pargan without a second glance.****

"May I take your coat, sir?"****

"I won't be staying," the jean-clad youth said.  "Where are the other guests?"****

Pargan nodded to the right, "In the kitchen, sir.  Having a poker game, I believe."****

"Hn."****

Yuy's long legs ate up the distance that stretched from the foyer to the kitchen door.  With an outstretched hand, the swinging door was thrown open, startling the table's occupants.  The cobalt gaze took in the sight of the interrupted poker game with indifference.****

"Hey, Heero!  That was a fast one, buddy.  Com'on and have a seat.  We need a fifth person."****

"Can't." ****

"Why not?"****

"Heero?" Quatre asked, his bleary, sleepy eyes blinking as he bullied himself into awareness.  He smothered a yawn by fanning his cards over his mouth.  "Is everything alright?"****

"No."  Heero's gaze landed on Wufei.  "It's not finished."****

Duo gaped.  "Heero Yuy didn't complete a _mission_?"****

Heero ignored him.  "We have to go back."****

Wufei nodded slowly.  "Then we go now, when they won't expect us."****

With a great sigh, Duo eyed the sizable pile of chips with longing.  "Well, this has really killed the mood, you know that, Heero?"****

"Ch'," the Japanese pilot said, and then turned on the heels of black hiking boots and disappeared through the door.****

"Yup, my sentiments exactly," Duo replied, throwing his cards down.****

Wufei gave him a careful look.  "It is your turn," he reminded him.  "You could always call it."****

"I could," Duo said, thinking of the disgusting set of cards he'd been dealt, "but I won't.  Wouldn't want to embarrass anybody."****

The look on Wufei's face clearly said that he didn't believe a word of it.  Duo just grinned and shrugged into his jacket.  Trowa had already abandoned his cards and was zipping up his coat.  Quatre yawned but followed suit.****

One after the other, they filed through the kitchen door, leaving Wufei to button his coat in silence.  The pair of black eyes studied Maxwell's abandoned cards.****

_Hm...  Who would've been embarrassed, Maxwell?_****

He had a strong suspicion that it would have been none other than Duo Maxwell, himself.  The temptation to peek at the other boy's cards was great, but Wufei had more honor and propriety than that.  With a sniff, he turned toward the door and joined the others in the foyer.

**.**

**The OZ base** was quiet in its confidence that another attack would not be forthcoming on the same night.  Needless to say, they had vastly underestimated the endurance of Heero Yuy.****

            The dark-haired pilot jogged effortlessly down the twisting halls, stopping every twenty paces or so to press a small, magnetic explosive to the crease in a door frame.  Over shallow breathing, well trained ears listened for foreign sounds.  Nothing echoed from within the depths of the corridors.

            _Way too easy._

            Nonetheless, Yuy pushed forward, relentless in the face of the mission.

            The doors swept past, and a silent tally was kept in the young man's head.  

            _Almost there._

            Cobalt eyes focused on a nearby door.  Long legs lengthened their strides.  Before Heero had skidded to a halt in front of the door, the code had been punched into the control panel.  The metal door slid open with a whoosh of friction.

            The shaggy-haired pilot turned toward the left.  Instinct told the mind behind those cool, blue eyes that the room was not vacant, and that the occupant was conscious.  With a swift twist, a booted foot lashed out and caught something firm, but slightly resilient.  The sound of a body striking the metal floor echoed softly back to Yuy.  

            Not wasting a moment, Heero pulled a black, thermal blanket from inside his dark shirt.  Carefully, gloved hands wrapped the limp figure up and lifted it over one narrow shoulder.

            The minutes continued to tick away in side of the brunette's head.  With a quick glance and a gun preceding, the lithe form slipped back into the hall.  A few moments of quick sprinting lead the youth back to the cargo hold.  Several bodies of OZ soldiers littered the shadowed floor, but Heero knew exactly where to step and where not to step.  He slipped through the outer door without incident and jumped into the back of the truck Wufei was driving.  The Chinese pilot gunned the engine, glancing in the rearview mirror at the burden Heero had hauled out of the base.

            As the truck roared through the base gates, smashing them to pieces, Heero spoke into the wide-band communicator.  "This is one and five, we are out of range, over."

            A moment of static crackled back.  "Roger that," came Trowa's mellow voice.

            A moment later, the base erupted in a mountain of flames behind them.

            Yuy's thumb flicked the speaker button again.  "One reporting mission completed.  Regroup at base.  Over."

            Again, Trowa's voice filtered through the frequency.  "Roger.  Over and out." 

            Heero replaced the communicator in its holder and turned to the limp burden.  With careful fingers, Yuy checked the unconscious form for signs of severe trauma.  When a steady pulse was detected, the hands withdrew and wrapped the shivering figure in the blanket once again.

            Cobalt eyes looked up in time to see Wufei's questioning gaze.

            "He'll be useful to us" was the only explanation that the obsidian-eyed pilot got.  However, he was satisfied with that reply and turned back to the road, intending to make it back to Relena's mansion in Salzburg before dawn.

**.**

            **Trowa, Quatre, and Duo** had been waiting for a half an hour in Heero's room when the other two pilots arrived.  They glanced up as Wufei entered the room and they stared as Heero followed close behind, cradling someone in slim, but muscular arms.

            "Heero?" Quatre questioned.  As pilots, they'd never taken hostages before and he had more than one misgiving about starting now.

            "Whatcha got there?" Duo inquired, trying to sneak a peek at the mysterious figure.

            Heero easily avoided Duo's prying and laid the creature down on the bed.  "I'll get some ointment for him," the youth said, and disappeared into the hall.  

            For a moment, the four comrades simply looked at each other.  Then, frowning, Wufei reached across the bed and pulled the blankets away from the prisoner's head.  His hands paused as a mass of short, dark brown hair was revealed.  Behind him, he heard each of the gundam pilots pause as they became aware of the sight before them.

            _No...  It can't be._

            Wufei turned the unconscious boy over, and stared at the sleeping face of Heero Yuy.  A dark bruise was slowing coloring over the left half of the pilot's face.  The darkest portion was over his temple.  

            Wufei stood up and turned toward the door.  Without a word to the others, he ran toward it and out into the hall.  He listened for a sound, any sound, to indicate which direction the other Heero had taken.  He chose the stairs that descended into the foyer.  Behind him, he heard Duo rushing to the west, and Trowa hurrying toward the large widows that concluded the east end of the guest corridor.

            They searched for over an hour, but no one found the mysterious figure that had carried Heero Yuy from the OZ base and delivered him to Relena's residence.  Not even a footprint marred the sparkling frost.

            The youth had vanished.

**.**

**~End of Prologue~**


	2. Intermission

**The Perfect Soldier**

**Intermission**

Six months later...

**. **

            **A figure completely **cloaked in black blended well into the shadows of night.  Surely and quickly, it moved through the streets of the sleeping town; its destination was not far away.  With a glance heavenward, the location of the town's water tower was noted and the course was altered accordingly.

            The slim form slipped across the deserted highway and into the thick forest of trees.  Kneeling, a black skull tilted slightly, listening.  A pair of dark eyes scanned the shadows of the town.  Minutes passed.  Still, nothing had moved.  The figure shrank further into the darkness.

            It was easy to navigate through the forest; no one lived here who could be disturbed by a dark figure gliding through the night's shadows.  The figure stopped only to check a compass and take note of its surroundings.  Still, it moved quickly and without rest.  And beneath the black mask it wore, its thoughts were also swift.  They were calculations, observations, and prayers.

            _This is the last place it would be.  If it's not here, then I won't know where else to go, to look.  I'll have to assume it was destroyed._

            The figure shoved that last thought away.  Failure was not an option.  The object _would_ be here.  It had to be.

            The underbrush became dense; this was the sign that the night traveler had been waiting for.  It carefully ascended the trunk of one, sturdy oak, and crawled out onto one of the longest branches.  Beneath it, the forest opened up to a small clearing.  In the center, a camouflaged shed sat alone in the silence.  The building was characteristic of the rebel bunkers that had been used during the war.  Although it was only one story high, the roof could be opened up to expose the huge crater beneath that could hold up to a dozen mobile suits.

            The figure glanced up at the stars.  There was only about four hours of darkness left.  The object could be anywhere, and there were a lot of places to search in the bunker.  The job would have to be swift.

            Surrounded by silence, the figure leapt from the branch and landed softly in the lush grass.  A swift sprint and a moment at the electronic lock were all that were needed for the figure to disappear inside the structure.

            It was dark, darker than it was outside.  The figure bent and removed a small flashlight from a pocket in the tight-fitting pant legs.  The light clicked on.

            Everything was covered in a thick layer of dust.  That fact was reassuring; if someone had been living here then the dust would have been cleaned off or it would have revealed the recent passing of others.  For the purpose of the mission, contact with people was to be avoided.

            The figure moved deeper into the bunker.  Various crates were stacked and scattered.  It approached each, opened each, and evaluated the contents of every single one.  The minutes were counted off into hours inside of the intruder's head.  So little time...

            Cooking supplies, dehydrated foods, tools, spare parts, clothing, and toiletries were located.  And each sealed crate was opened with meticulous care and examined thoroughly for the single precious item that was sought.  The figure left the crate it finished searching and continued on.  The next crate held spare mobile suit ammunition.  The next held spare firearm ammunition.  The form hovered over one of the final crates and slid the heavy lid onto the dusty floor.  Inside this crate, carelessly thrown on top of delicately packed rifles, was the object.

           With reverent hands, the figure lifted it out.  It slid the flashlight into its mouth to better check the thing for authenticity.  There had to be something about it that would conclusively prove that this was it.  The black-gloved hand turned it over and the light filtered down to illuminate a name written in blue ink.  The handwriting was delicate and feminine.  The name was familiar.  The hands drew the thing nearer and the figure inhaled its scent.

            The rifles had been clean when they had been put away over ten years ago and no trace of gun powder could be detected.  Only the flowery fragrance of a woman's perfume and the scent of baby powder wafted up from the object.  The figure recognized the perfume and the powder.  They fit with the results of the extensive research that had been completed prior to the mission.

            Mission accomplished.

            The figure tucked the object under its arm and turned toward the door.

**.**

**~End of Intermission~**


	3. Chapter 1: Reluctant Reunion

**The Perfect Soldier**

**Chapter 1: Reluctant Reunion**

A.C. 197, December 24

**.**

            **The clock in** the main hall of Relena's mansion chimed two-thirty in the morning.  The young man who had been reading quietly in the library glanced up from the book in his lap and then at the darkened window.  It was odd, but for some reason he still wasn't tired.  He was waiting for something, his instincts told him.  Something... but what?

            With a slight shake of his head, he turned back to the book, but the early hour made it difficult to focus his attention.  As his eyes skimmed the page, his thoughts were far from plot and character development.

            He glanced at the clock again through the open door.

            Where was Heero?

            _He should have arrived hours ago._

            Everyone else had made it to Relena's after having accepted her invitation to spend Christmas at the Salzburg estate.  Perhaps that was what kept Trowa from sleeping.  It was so unlike Heero to be this far behind schedule that it made him restless.

            The young man easily recalled that unexplained event last February, when Heero Yuy had been taken prisoner by OZ, and a mysterious look-a-like had shown up to take them to him.  Trowa's green eyes slowly unfocused as he recalled that night.

            _"Heero?  Heero, can you hear me?"  Quatre's concerned voice was nearly the only sound in the shadowed room.  With a sigh, the Sandrock pilot replaced the warming cold compress over Heero's bruise with another._

            _"How is he?"_

            _Quatre looked up as Trowa pushed the door open, letting the soft light from the hall tumble into the luxurious room._

            _The blonde shook his head, "He hasn't woken up yet."_

            _Trowa crossed the floor to the bed and lifted the compress to examine Heero's spreading bruise.  It looked as if he'd taken a single, extremely well-placed blow to the head.  Slim fingers probed the area, testing the strength of the other boy's skull.  It seemed to be solid.  A slight frown creased Trowa's brow._

            _"It's been over and hour, he should have woken up by now..."_

            _The Heavyarms pilot carefully lifted Heero's eyelids, one at a time.  As the lanky young man examined the limp form on the bed, Quatre gathered up the used compresses._

            _"Did you... did you find anything?"_

           _Trowa shook his head.  "Nothing."  _Not a thing.  No footprints, no broken branches, no sign of anyone anywhere.

            _Quatre fidgeted uneasily as if he'd read Trowa's thoughts._

            _"Who do you think it was?"_

            _Trowa understood the Sandrock pilot's acute distress.  They'd all just placed their lives in the hands of someone they hadn't known, but thought they had.  So easily, that mysterious Heero Yuy could have handed them over to the fragmented OZ organization and then their victory in space only six weeks ago would have been for nothing.  So easily, the war could have started all over again. _

            So easily, we could have been lead to our own demise.  But instead, he helped us rescue a comrade that we didn't even know we'd lost yet.  

            How could he have known about Heero's capture so quickly?

            _Even though Trowa mused over this, he realized that the reply didn't really matter.  The mysterious twin had vanished.  There would be no answers to these questions until he reappeared again._

            _Quatre shivered, "He looked and moved and sounded just like Heero."_

            _"Aa," Trowa agreed, not knowing what else to say._

            _On the bed, Heero moaned and tried to force open his eyes.  Quatre's face was awash with relief as the pilot slowly began to come to.  Trowa sat on the edge of the bed prompting Heero to wake up as the blonde leaned over his shoulder._

            _"Heero."_

            _"Nuh..."_

            _"Com'on, wake up, Heero.  You could have a concussion; you need to wake up," Quatre urged, picking up where he'd left off when Trowa had arrived._

            _Cobalt eyes slowly fluttered open.  "Wha... what happened?"_

            _"What do you remember?"_

            _Quatre glanced over his shoulder at Wufei who stood framed in the doorway._

            _Heero's eyes squeezed shut.  "The base was... deserted..." he began._

            _"So they were expecting you," Trowa concluded._

            _"A-Aa.  Got the data... but walked right into..."  As Heero's voice trailed off, his face twitched slightly, and everyone knew that he was remembering that startling confrontation all over again.  Duo slipped into the room behind Wufei and approached the bed._

            _"They gave me some sort of injection…"_

            _Quatre carefully removed the blankets around Heero's arms and soon found the slight bruise of a pinprick on his right bicep._

            _"The next thing I remember is... trying to stand up... in a cell.  And then, the door opened.  The light from the hall was too bright... couldn't see.  Then something hit me.  That's all."_

            _Heero blinked his eyes again, trying to keep them open for as long as possible.  His head throbbed and even moving his eyelids caused him pain.  "How did you find me?"_

            _There was a beat of silence as the pilots exchanged glances._

            _Wufei said, "Something strange happened at about __midnight__..."_

            Trowa let out a very soft sigh as he finished reviewing that night for the thousandth time.  Had the Heero who had shown up at midnight really looked like the real Heero?  Or had it just been a resemblance?   It was hard to tell now, ten months later.  The only way to be sure was to have the two of them stand side by side.

            The clock in the hall chimed three.  Trowa glanced down at his book and closed it.  He wasn't going to be able to concentrate on it, anyway.  He rose from the comfortable arm chair to replace the volume on the shelf.  The book had just been slid into place when a sharp rapport echoed through the foyer.  The Heavyarms pilot turned and wandered out of the library.  The sound came again.

            Yes, someone was at the door.

            Trowa unlatched the main entrance and swung the heavy door open.  His green eyes scanned the darkness beyond, coming to rest on the lone figure illuminated by the lantern.  A pair of tired cobalt eyes returned the mild gaze.

            "Heero," Trowa said, backing into the foyer to allow him to enter.

            "Trowa," the youth replied.

            The green eyes took in Heero's well worn jean jacket and grungy duffle bag tossed over his shoulder.  He gave new meaning to the term 'traveling light.'

            "No one else is awake?"

            Trowa shook his head.  "Come on.  You're room's waiting."

            "Aa."

            The two started up the stairs.  As they ascended, Trowa told himself that he was relieved that his associate had made it here alright, even if he was a bit late.  But there was an uneasy feeling gnawing at Trowa.  Something was trying to tell him that all was not as it seemed.  He glanced at Heero and tried to pinpoint the source of his uneasiness.

            "Where's Relena?" Heero asked.

            Trowa almost smiled at what Duo would call 'proof of Heero's crush.'  "She had to attend a banquet and ball tonight.  She'll be here around noon."

            "Aa."

            They stopped at a white door in the long, guest hall.  "'Night, Trowa."

            It was Trowa's turn to reply with "Aa."  He turned and walked calmly to his room, listening to the sounds of Heero Yuy opening his door and then closing it again.  The warning continued to gnaw at him.

            But Heero was here.  There was no need to rescue him again from a mission gone awry.

            So why did he still feel so uneasy?

**.**

            **Later that morning,** the kitchen in Relena's mansion resembled a secret meeting room for gundam pilots.  Their hostess had yet to return from her sudden engagement that evening and the servants of the house were on vacation, spending time with their own families.  That left the male guests to congregate as they would, and it was no coincidence that they selected the area surrounding the refrigerator and pantry; the objects held a main strategic advantage.

            "Hey, Wu-man, you gonna eat that?"  

            An incoherent growl was Duo Maxwell's only warning.

            "Who wants waffles?" Quatre asked, lifting the waffle iron out of its place in the cupboards.

            Duo abandoned the dubious-looking piece of toast and grinned at Quatre.  "Hey, sure.  That sounds great.  Count me in."

            Quatre went back to scrounging through the pantry for waffle mix. 

            "So... I wonder if anyone else has shown up yet," Duo mused, propping his feet up on the kitchen table precariously close to Wufei's toast.  The dark-haired pilot glared at Duo and elected to relocate his breakfast.

            "I thought I heard something last night.  Could have been someone arriving," Quatre replied.

            Duo grinned at Wufei.  "Now, if that someone was Heero, we all know what that means."

            Wufei steadfastly ignored Duo.

            Quatre's large, blue eyes widened even more.  "What?" he asked, secretly dreading this new scheme that Duo had cooked up.       

            Duo opened his mouth to reply when the kitchen door swung open.  They all turned as one and Duo took the opportunity to snitch a piece of Wufei's toast.  As Duo took a large bite, his gaze alighted on the figure in the doorway.  His eyes went wide.  There was Heero.  Wearing a green T-shirt, jean jacket, and faded Levi's.

            Around the hunk of toast in his mouth, Duo said, "Hey, Heero.  You have no idea how glad I am to see you."  He sent a pointed look at the stunned Wufei.  "Pay up, man."

            Quatre took in the scene with big eyes.  And then they narrowed and he sighed.  "Shoot," he swore.

            "What is it?" Duo asked. "You didn't screw up the waffles did you?"

            "No.  I bet Heero that you two wouldn't have a bet over if he'd show up."

            Everyone stared at Quatre for a long moment, and then Duo threw back his head and laughed.  The sound drew Wufei's gaze and he spied the stolen, half-eaten toast clutched in Duo's fingers.  Something snapped in the Nataku pilot's head.

            "MAXWELL!!"

            Duo froze and then pushed away from the table in time to avoid Wufei's sweeping fist.  Unfortunately, he lost his balance and the chair slowly began to topple over backwards.  From the doorway, the new arrival calculated the distance between Duo's head and the nearby cabinets; there was no clearance.  In one swift leap, the figure was crouching behind Duo's chair and righting it with two strong hands.

            "Hey, thanks, man.  I owe you one," Duo said after a breath of relief.  

            "Aa," Heero replied, moving toward the coffee machine.

            "Would you like a waffle, Heero?" Quatre asked, politely.

            The hopeful expression on Quatre's face drew out another "Aa" from the pilot.  Quatre grinned and began whipping the mix and other ingredients together.  Heero took his coffee and planted himself at the table.

            "So, Heero," Duo said as Heero quietly sipped his coffee.  "How's outer space been treating you?  I heard it's been pretty quiet out there."

            "Quiet," Wufei mused, "that's quite a novel concept for you, isn't it, Maxwell?"

            Duo threw a glare in Wufei's direction before turning back to Heero.

            In reply to Duo's observation about outer space, Heero said only, "Aa."

            Duo chuckled and crossed his arms over his chest.  "I'd forgotten how talkative you are, Yuy," he commented with a wry grin.

            Wufei turned to Heero.  "Sally has asked about you.  She wants to know if you're interested in a job, Yuy."

            Duo threw his head back and laughed, cutting off Heero's reply.  "Ha!  I knew there was a reason you accepted Relena's invitation!  This rich.  Sally made you come just to offer Heero a job!"

            Wufei glared at the American and then turned back to Yuy.

            Heero sipped more coffee.  "I'll consider it," he said.

            Duo blinked.  "You'll consider it?  Man, what're you up to, anyway?  I haven't heard anything about you since last February.  What gives?  You got a load of missions you're not sharing with the rest of us?"

            "Lay off, Duo," Heero grumbled.

            "You've forgotten how... disagreeable he is before the third cup of coffee," Trowa said softly as he let the kitchen door swing shut behind him.

            Duo let out a very unrefined snort.  "Well, he's just disagreeable in general.  What's wrong, man?  You look like you've got a bad case of hemorrhoids or something."

            "He always looks like that," Quatre said with a teasing grin as he plopped Duo's waffle in front of him. 

            Duo sniffed appreciatively.  "Yeah, I guess you're right.  This smells great, Quat!  Where'd you learn how to cook, rich boy?"

            Quatre laughed and set the butter and syrup on the table.  "Oh, I've picked it up here and there."

            The gundam pilots watched as Duo, the test subject, shoved and enormous piece of syrup-drenched waffle into his mouth.  He proceeded to chew, making loud, ecstatic sounds.

            From that point on, he was pretty much ignored.  Wufei picked up a day-old paper—the one that he'd completely scoured yesterday—and began to read.  Heero finished off his first cup of coffee and got up to get a refill.

            Trowa watched Heero move around the kitchen and eventually come to lean beside the coffee machine.  When Duo noticed Heero's new post, he chuckled and said, "Hey, I hate to break it to you, Heero, but you don't get a caffeine buzz by osmosis."

            Heero said nothing and sipped the refill.

            "So what time did you arrive last night, Heero?" Quatre said, flipping a second waffle onto a plate.

            Heero accepted the dish and began to dress the waffle.  "Three oh four a.m."

            That reply sent Duo into another laughing fit.  "What?" he choked out.  "No seconds?"

            Heero glowered.

            Duo grinned.  "Man, oh man.  You have no idea how much I've missed our talks, Heero."

            "Hn."

            Trowa poured the remains of his coffee down the sink and moved to the coat rack in the kitchen's breezeway.

            "Where are you going?" Duo said after gulping down another bite.

            "Town."

            Duo eyed the Heavyarms pilot.  "I wouldn't have guessed you're one of those last-minute shoppers, Trowa.  Don't you plan you gifts out like three years in advance like Heero here?"

            Heero glowered again.

            "Ooops, I forgot," Duo continued after seeing that cold stare, "Heero's Christmas spirit amounts to 'Bah, humbug!'"

            "Ch'.  Be quiet, Duo," was the bland reply that confirmed Duo's statement.

            The Shinigami pilot grinned.  "Man, it's a good thing no one ever wrestled you into a Santa suit."  He paused, considering the image of his homicidal friend in a festive Santa suit.  "That's about the scariest thing I think I've ever thought of," he concluded.

            Heero turned away from the pilot that couldn't seem to shut up.  With military precision, the coffee cup, plate, and utensils were washed, dried, and put away.

            Duo grumbled something about anal retentive neat-freaks.  "Hey, Quatre, I'll take another waffle!"

            Yuy walked out of the kitchen, silently wondering how Wufei could stand all the racket and still manage to memorize that damn newspaper.  With a slight shake of the head, Heero retired to the waiting laptop upstairs.  There was work to be done.

**.**

            **Sunset was a** little less than an hour away and the two figures in the estate's elaborate, wintering garden were determined, it seemed, to enjoy every last ray of sun shine.

            Relena walked beside Heero as they strolled along the path.  Their breath froze in the air, and the sound of snow falling from the tree branches nearby were the surest signs of winter cold that anyone could look for.  Heero walked along, indifferent to the crunch of the frosty gravel beneath his hiking boots.

            Finally, Relena said, "I didn't really believe you'd come."

            "I said I would."

            "Yes, but, your life is so... unpredictable."

            Heero gave Relena lingering look.  "I only make promises that I know I can keep, Relena."

            She lowered her head.  "I know.  That's why I can't ask you to give up fighting, can I?"

            "Relena..."

            "I know you can't know that you'll never fight again.  So I'm not asking you to stop, I'm just trying to say that..." she sighed, momentarily at a loss for words, "... it's alright if you do stop someday."

            Heero looked at her again before facing forward.  "Fighting is all I can do for you.  It's all I know how to do."

            A long moment of silence passed between them.  "I understand," she said.

            The two of them followed the path as the sun sank lower on the horizon.

**.**

            **Trowa was deep** in thought, gazing at the uniformly arranged chess board in front of him when someone slipped into the opposite seat.  He glanced up as Heero placed a cup of coffee next to the other pilot's elbow and then took a sip from his own.

            "Thanks."

            "Aa."

            Heero made the first move on the chess board and Trowa reached for a pawn.

From the other side of the room, Duo groaned, "Here they go again."

            "No one made you watch the last game," Heero observed dryly, countering Trowa's move.

            Duo rolled his eyes.  "You're missing the point.  I stayed up to see who would win, and then it was a draw, of all things.  You have no idea how exhausting it was to watch you two chase each other around a chess board."

            Heero did not dignify that with a reply.  Neither did Trowa.  Both were of the opinion that chess was a _serious_ game of strategy.  There was no chasing involved. 

            The night wore on and soon the clock in the hall had chimed midnight.  Still, the chess game was not resolved.  Both pilots were focusing on evasive maneuvers rather than offense, which tended to lengthen the game.

            Duo came up behind Heero and leaned over his shoulder.  He blinked bleary eyes and yawned.  "I don't know why you two put yourselves through this.  Just looking at all that unnecessary strategy gives me a headache."

            Heero ignored him and executed the next move.

            "Well, I'm off to get some shut-eye.  I'd stay up and cheer for ya, Heero, but this game could cure an insomniac.  Later."

            "Aa."

            Trowa nodded goodnight to the Shinigami pilot.

            When the clock chimed one in the morning, Heero picked up the coffee cup at his elbow and discovered it was empty.  He stared into it for a moment, the emptiness striking a chord inside of him.

            _Damn.  I thought I'd severed all of those feelings for good._

            "Trowa."

            "Aa?"  The Heavyarms pilot didn't look up from the chess board.

            "Do you ever wonder about who you are?"

            That got his attention.  "Sure," he said easily, unconcerned.

            "And if you had the chance to know?  Would you want it?"

            This time, when Trowa looked at Heero, his green eyes carefully studied the youth.  After a moment, Heero returned his gaze.  It didn't take a genius to know that a hell of a lot was going on behind those eyes.  And it took a special kind of training to recognize the look that said the answer to that question was off-limits. 

            Heero shrugged.  "Sorry."

            "Sure," was the mellow reply.

            Heero took his turn.

            Trowa said, "I saw you talking with Relena earlier."

            Heero glanced up.  "Aa."

            "She worries about you."

            "Aa."

            "You care about what happens to her."

            "Aa."

            "But you're Heero Yuy."  A soldier.  A fighter.  A person without a real past, just a borrowed name and a borrowed history and training for a personality.

            "Aa."

            There was a long moment of silence as they continued the game.

            And then, Trowa said, "If _you_ had the chance to know, would you want it?"

            Heero's hand paused over the board.  Taking a breath, the gundam pilot commenced with moving a bishop.  "I don't know."

            "Hn," Trowa agreed.

            The game continued.

            The night wore on.

            The question circled in their respective heads.

**.**

            **_Shit._**

            Heero Yuy sat down on the bed and glanced out at the stars beyond the room's window.

            _He didn't answer the question._

            Yuy sighed and tried to force himself to get under the covers, but couldn't.  It would be hours before he'd sleep.

            _I'll never complete this mission now.  Dammit._

            Yuy put his head in his hands and closed his eyes.  

            He mentally went through every movement, every word, every look that Trowa had used today, trying to come up with a good estimation for how the Heavyarms pilot might have truthfully responded.

            _I don't know._

            That had been his own answer.

            And it didn't help any.

            Heero swore.   

            Slim hands buried themselves in spiky hair.

            _I can't afford a mistake, but I have to know.  It's imperative to the success of the mission._

            But how did one finish a mission when the single, necessary piece of information was unavailable?

            _Somehow, I have to finish this mission and get the hell out.  The longer I wait, the greater my chances are of failure_._  And then all hell will break loose._

            Heero lifted his head and stared at the grungy duffle he'd carried through Europe with him.  Now it contained very little, but it was enough, more than enough to accomplish what he'd come here to do.

            Resolute, having realized that he may never get another chance, the youth who answered to the name Heero Yuy paced over to the writing desk and removed a single sheet of stationary.  He picked up a pen and took a seat.  

            _As soon as they see this, they're sure to know.  But by then, I'll be long gone._

            In spite of the fact that he was making himself vulnerable by putting pen to paper, Heero carefully penned a short note, signed it, and then encased it in an envelope.  The recipient's name was carefully penned onto that, and then he glanced at the deflated-looking duffle.

            It was nearly three in the morning.  

            So little time.

            So much uncertainty.

**.**

**~End of Chapter 1~**


	4. Chapter 2: Taki's Mistake

**The Perfect Soldier**

**Chapter 2: Taki's Mistake**

. ****

**            Duo Maxwell** slid open the sauna door and blinked at the sight of Heero Yuy lounging in the deep, steaming water. Beside Duo, Quatre paused and strained to glance over his shoulder.

"Hey, Heero. I didn't think we'd find you here. Aren't you supposed to be at your laptop by now?" 

"Hn," Heero replied, casually reaching over and flipping on the switch that powered the massive tub's jets. As the array of bubbles began softly pounding against tight muscles aching from lack of sleep, Heero slipped a little further beneath the surface of the water.

The Deathscythe pilot strutted into the room and tossed the towel he had loosely knotted around his waist to the tiled floor. He half splashed-half slid into the fizzing water.

"Watch it," Heero growled, face as impassive as ever. "You'll get my robe wet."

"Huh?" Duo glanced over Heero's shoulder at the pile of soft, fluffy green fabric meticulously folded on the navy tiles. He laughed so hard that he nearly smacked his head into the rim of the tub. "Mr. Perfect Soldier needs a bathrobe to get in and out of the tub?"

Quatre was trying very hard not to laugh as well. He tried to keep a smile from breaking across his lips as he shed his towel and slippers and sank into the water. "Ahhh," he said, an angelic smile animating his face.

Failing to get more than a mild glare out of the other pilot, Duo persisted, "So . . . where'd you get the robe?"

 "... it's Relena's..."

Duo gaped. Quatre's eyes snapped open a moment before his cheeks began to perform a slow burn. With an appraising glance, Duo re-examined his friend. A huge grin split his face as he punched Heero lightly in the shoulder. "You dirty dog!" he exclaimed.

Heero glowered but said nothing.

The door slid open again.

"Merry Christmas, Trowa!"

"Aa," the Heavyarms pilot said before letting his own towel flutter to the floor. Heero's gaze flicked in the direction of the abandoned towel and then he leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

"Hey, Trowa, you'll never guess who Heero's started borrowing clothes from."

The green-eyed pilot's face displayed a total lack of interest in Duo's dare.

Duo ignored that and grinned. "This morning he's got Relena's fuzzy bathrobe! Methinks someone got an _early_ Christmas present last night?"

Quatre turned an even deeper shade of pink.

"Shut up, Duo," Heero growled, not even cracking an eye.

Duo stepped away from the fine line he was treading and tried another route. "And what's the deal with a _fuzzy_ bathrobe? Heero Yuy and _fuzzy_ anything just don't go together."

Heero ignored Duo.

"Are you keeping a horde of stuffed animals from us somewhere?" Duo demanded, and this time, Quatre couldn't stop a chuckle from squeaking out. The image of Heero Yuy sleeping on or playing Russian Roulette with fluffy teddy bears was too much.

"Omae o—"

"Excuse me, gentlemen," Pargan said, sticking his head into the steam-filled room, "but Christmas brunch will be served in one hour."

"Brunch!?" Duo exclaimed. "How long do we have to wait before we can open our presents, man?"

Pargan blinked. "It's a Peacecraft family tradition that the family and guests have a lengthy brunch before actually opening the gifts, sir."

"Well that's just great," Duo grouched.

"You've waited an entire year; you can wait two more hours," Heero observed dryly.

"Hey, who's side are you on, anyway?"

"Hn."

"We'll be there shortly, Pargan," Quatre said to the waiting manservant. The sauna door slid closed.

"Well," Duo sighed, folding his lanky arms behind his head. "I guess it's not going to kill me if I have to wait just a little longer. But I'm dying to see what's in the blue and gold present that has Heero's name on it." The boy with the braided chestnut hair grinned. "Maybe it's a teddy bear."

"Rrrr."

Quatre snorted and sank lower in the water to cover his grin.

Trowa took in the entire scene with his usual, unconcerned expression. "Heero, we'll have to finish the chess game soon."

"Aa."

Duo blinked. "You mean you two still aren't done? Heero, what's wrong with you? Whenever I've played Trowa, the game only took two and a half hours at most."

"That's because you'd loose," Heero grumbled.

Duo sighed. "At least it ended! You two could sit there for days and never get any closer to a resolution."

"What's the matter? You didn't make any bets over the game, did you?"

"Humph! I don't see how that's any of your business."

"Hn." There was a beat of silence. "I'm going into Salzburg today after brunch."

"Whaat!?" Duo glared at Yuy. "We'll have to wait for you to get back before we can open the presents!"

"..." And then: "I'll tell Relena to start with out me."

"Yeah, like that's gonna happen. Besides, who's open on Christmas Morning?"

"None of your business."

Trowa's eyes narrowed. Something was still wrong about this situation... but what? 

. ****

**            Heero Yuy** knelt under the massive Christmas tree, careful to make as little noise as possible; anyone could walk by the open door an hear what was happening inside the library. With careful hands, the kneeling pilot arranged the meticulously wrapped box so that several other presents obscured it from immediate discovery. Yuy leaned back and wiped a hand across an overheated brow. It was time to get out of here.

_I still don't like it. The mission's incomplete. I'm forcing the issue._

But the important thing was that everybody was getting what they deserved, whether they wanted it or not.

_What more can I do? I haven't been able to uncover any other helpful information._

Yuy sighed and turned toward the door.

_This _is_ all I can do. I hope it's successful._

"Hey, Heero!" Duo was calling from the dining room. "You hungry or what? We're eating without you, man!" 

Heero pulled the jean jacket more securely over his green shirt and started toward the dining room.

**.**

**            A dark-haired girl** in a form-fitting, black leather duster slipped easily onto the crowded, Christmas Day streets of Salzburg. After the presents were opened in this town, everybody headed for the main square and the various winter sports and performers that awaited an audience. She sighed as she surveyed the cityscape through a pair of slim-framed glasses.

"Damn you, Heero. You're always running off on your missions and leaving me to sit back at the safe house, twiddling my thumbs, waiting for you to get back. Well, this ends here and now. I'm not going to take this abuse anymore." Determined to locate her wayward friend, the young woman plunged into the streets and began to search.

It was nearly noon when she sat down to rest, having been scouring the streets for the past three hours. "I know you're here," she grumbled, her eyes still moving over the crowds. "I just have to find you. And trust me, I will. I haven't spent the last four years in total haze. I _did_ learn a thing or two from you, Yuy."

She leaned back on the bench and smothered a frustrated moan. "Ugh. Who am I kidding? There's no way I can find The Perfect Soldier. And it's not as if Heero'll just drop out of the sky and sit on me..."

"Excuse me."

"Sure," she replied when a pedestrian bumped her leg. And then the hairs on the back of her neck rose. She looked up and was just in time to see the back of a familiar head disappear into a crowd.

"Heero?"

She jumped to her feet and nimbly sprinted through the crowds, her gaze darting everywhere, searching for the froth of dark brown hair. She was so busy searching that she didn't see the sudden shift in the people directly in front of her. She tripped over someone and felt herself plummeting toward the pavement. She had no time to think before someone grabbed her arm and roughly pulled her back onto her feet.

"Thanks..." she said, turning and staring at her rescuer. A pair of disinterested cobalt eyes stared back. For a moment they simply exchanged looks and then the object of the young woman's search turned to walk away.

Taki continued staring, not believing her luck. But when she realized that Heero had every intention of ignoring her, her ire rose.

"Hey!" she practically shouted in affront. "I've been looking all over for you and when I find you, what do I get? No 'Hey, Taki.' No 'What's shakin,' Taki?' No 'Gee I'm sorry for LEAVING you back at the house and running off on another mission to have LOADS of fun WITHOUT you!'"

Heero glanced blankly at the woman who was determined to keep stride with him.

Taki saw this and grouched, "What do I have to do get a stinking reaction out of you? I'm an artist, I LIVE for reactions, and yet you never smile, never laugh. Well, I'm tired of it, Heero, do you hear me? I'm almost as tired of it as I am of you having your fun-loving, groovin' missions without me. Would it kill you to invite me along once in a while? Hm. Well, I guess it would, considering you're The Perfect Soldier."

            Still, no response as they moved through the street.

Taki sighed and tried another track, "Hey, you're not still mad about the Van de Meere house, are you? I mean, sure it was mean of me to get you to plan the heist when all I really wanted was to see those medieval suits of armor. Don't be mad about it. I got some great inspiration out of that, and I'm gonna make so much money off of these sketches that you'll get a nose bleed just looking at the bank balance." 

No reply.

"Okay, so you're not mad about that one. Hm. Okay, I know what it is. It was the Andrew thing, wasn't it? I wish I could say I'm sorry over that one, but you've really gotta get laid. I mean, just look at you, all tense and squinty-eyed. And Andrew was hot, and he was willing to go all out. He even told me you were good-lookin' and he hadn't seen anything! That man was a sweetheart and you just brushed him aside, said 'Omae o korosu' and slammed out the door. Geez, Heero! I'm your friend here, just trying to help out another friend, and what kind of thanks do I get?" Taki scrunched up her face and hissed, "'Omae o korosu.'" She glared at Heero again. 

No reply.

"Dammit. Just tell me why you're pretending to ignore me! I am not going to leave you alone until you tell me why you're being such a—"

_Knock. Knock._

Taki glanced up, startled. She hadn't even noticed that they'd walked onto a private residence. Taking a gander at it, she was suitably impressed. "Wow, nice digs. Why didn't you tell me you were staying here? I can't believe you left me in that hole in Paris. What the hell is the deal, leaving me out of the loop, here? That's it. Either I get an explanation right now or I'm going... to..."

Taki stared up as the great door opened, revealing one of the most gorgeous specimens of manhood she'd ever seen. His violet eyes glittered as he grinned and exclaimed, "Heero! It's about time!"

From behind him, a droll voice said, "Great timing, Yuy. I was just getting ready to kill Maxwell for driving us nuts with his pacing."

Maxwell reached across the threshold and yanked Heero into the house. He held the door open for Taki who immediately followed, not about to be left out.

"We were about ready to send out a search party, man!"

The droll voice came again and Taki identified the source: a young Asian man with his arms crossed over his chest who could give Maxwell a run for his money as far as Male Specimen of the Year went. "_You_ were about to call the search party."

"Yeahyeahyeah. Com'on! Let's open presents!" The violet-eyed youth turned away. "Oh, Rele-ena! Heero's back."

Heero's eyes narrowed. "Back?" he muttered.

Taki turned on her companion as two other striking young men stood up from where they sat on the steps and approached. "Geez," she grouched somewhat loudly, "no wonder you didn't want me to come with you. You knew I'd kill you when I found out that you had this many hot guys up you sleeve!" Taki chuckled and made a motion of rolling up her sleeves. _Matchmaker, matchmaker, make Heero a match..._ "Hmm. Where to start..." She blinked innocently at Heero. "I shouldn't bother asking you this since you're being such an ass, but... do you have any requests?"

"Go away."

"That's not a valid response."

"Com'on, Heero! Presents are getting cold, man!" Duo practically shouted, bouncing into the library.

Heero glowered. It was obvious that this misunderstanding wasn't going to get resolved until after Duo'd had his way. Already, Quatre—the ever-polite Quatre—was stepping forward and introducing himself to the girl called Taki. With a disgusted sound, Heero ignored them both and swept into the library.

"Shesh, what's her problem?" Taki grouched.

Quatre almost choked on his own breathing. 

The taller brunette behind him suggested in a smooth, mellow voice, "Perhaps the fact that you've mistaken him for a girl?"

Taki's brows drew forward.  She opened her mouth to say something but Quatre's good-natured laughter disrupted her thoughts. "Well, he hasn't killed you yet, so I wouldn't worry about it," the blonde advised. "I'm sure he'll get over it."

"He…?"

Trowa's green eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

"Hey! Are you guys coming or what? I'm _dying_ in here!"

With a sigh, Quatre called back, "We're coming, Duo."

Taki's frown didn't lift as she approached the library door. _He...?_ she mused, her eyes sweeping over Heero, examining her for the tiniest detail that would be out of place. What if she _had_ mistaken this person for her friend, maybe she had looked at someone resembling Heero and had automatically assumed that it was the girl, herself. _No... everything about her appearance is as it should be... although she is a little flat-chested, but if she'd wanted to be a boy, that's easily fixed with a special bra or something..._

Taki plopped down next to Heero and leaned close to whisper. "I think I almost blew you cover."

The cobalt eyes finally looked at her.

Taki grinned, "Although I've got to admit it, you make a pretty convincing boy. Andrew would shit a brick if he could see you right now."

"Heero? Who's this?"

Taki glanced up at the young woman with honey-brown hair. She smiled and introduced herself as "just a friend."

Duo was half-buried under the massive tree. "Comin' at ya, Quat!" A red and silver wrapped box flew through the air and was easily caught by the Sandrock pilot.

            The blonde grinned and Taki was immediately impressed with the young man's incredible cuteness. It was enough to make your eyes water.

"And here's one for Trowa..."

Relena grinned as Duo squirmed farther under the tree. He was obviously a firm believer in the old wives' tale that said all the really great presents were always hidden at the back of the pile. Tinsel and bulbs threatened to crash to the floor as the wriggling teenager maneuvered under the tree with all the grace of a frantic water buffalo.

Taki watched as the individual piles of presents gained in mass. She kept a careful eye on Heero, who didn't seem to be acknowledging her at all. Taki sighed. "Are you really that mad because I insisted on making you share all the fun with me? Is it so hard to believe that I _won't_ get in the way of your mission? I just want to have some fun—"

"Mission?" She had Heero's full attention now.

"Well, _yeah,_" she said, rolling her eyes. "You're getting as bad as me. Pretty soon, you won't be able to remember your name, either."

Heero just stared at her.

"Oh, yes, be afraid. Be very afraid."

"What kind of mission do you think I'm on?" he asked.

Taki shrugged. "Hell if I know. You never tell me anything. But I'm getting better at figuring you out. It only took me five days to figure out you were in Salzburg, and then this morning I found your place on Centre Street, but I still had to pull ever damn string I could get my hands on. Geez, Yuy, what kind of training have you had anyway? Someday, I'm gonna get you to spill it. Nobody can avoid me as easily as you seem to _and_ break into the finest of security systems.

"Oh, by the way, those sketches I did in Paris are turning out really well. I think I'm almost finished with the preliminary design." She grinned. "After I get this puppy built and wrap it around an engine, the Louvre will _have_ to offer to show my work.

"Yeah, I can see the formations now. Performance art at its best. Post-modernism, eat your heart out... What?"

Heero was looking at her as if she'd just lost her mind. Well, no, that wasn't possible; she'd lost her mind a long time ago. 

"Why are you looking at me like that? Don't tell me you've forgotten that, too? Man! Don't do this to me, Heero! Don't pick this time, of all times, to pull one of your twisted practical jokes on me!"

"Heero?"

The Wing pilot looked up at Trowa's softly spoken request. The Heavyarms pilot was holding out a white envelope to him, green eyes wary. "Did you write this?"

Heero took the note in his hand and looked at the penned inscription of Trowa's name on the front. His brow creased slightly as he turned the envelope over and saw the Peacecraft insignia on the stationary. He glanced up at Trowa. 

"Why are you asking me? I couldn't have written you a note on Relena's stationary."

Quatre blinked. "Why not?"

Cobalt eyes narrowed. _Something's going on._ "Because I just got here."

**.**

**~End of Chapter 2~**


	5. Chapter 3: Cover Blown

**The Perfect Soldier**

**Chapter 3: Cover Blown**

. ****

**            Duo stared** at his friend for a long moment as silence fell like a wet blanket on the entire room. "Is this a payback for the stuffed animal crack?" he choked out.

            Wufei scowled. "Don't play with us, Yuy."

            Beside Heero, Taki leaned over and examined the front of the envelope. _Wait a minute... I know this hand writing._

            A brief flash of a memory crossed her mind.

_            "You sure don't write like The Perfect Soldier. Just look at this chicken scratch."_

_            "... I guess that part of the training didn't stick..."_

            Taki gulped and looked at the person she'd thought was her friend. Cobalt eyes shifted and glared back.

_            Oh shit... _

            Heero lifted the envelope to her face. "Do _you_ recognize this handwriting?"

_            I just blew her cover so wide open a mobile suit mud-wrestling match could happen in the void._

            "Uh..."

            "Heero?" Duo asked, looking up from the frayed remains of gift wrapping. "What's going on?"

            "I got off of the shuttle this morning and was on my way here when Taki mistook me for someone else. Someone who looks like me and calls himself Heero Yuy."

            Taki gulped. "Uh..."

            Wufei stood up immediately and headed for the door.

            Quatre and Trowa followed suit. Duo struggled to rise above the sea of tangled wrapping paper. "Shit! It's last February all over again." He sprinted out of the room.

            Taki sighed as she looked at the envelope. _Why am I worrying?_ As Heero stood up to follow, she stopped him.

            "You won't find her. She put this under the tree and then she left. She wouldn't have put this where it could be found _before_ she'd made her getaway."

            Heero's eyes narrowed.

            "Heero?" It was Relena. "What's going on here?"

            "That's a good question." He stared at Taki.

_            Well, since the damage has been done, there's no harm in saving my butt by spilling it, I guess._ She said, "I guess I don't know who you are. The Heero Yuy I know looks just like you, she even sounds like you, acts like you, and dresses like you. Sorry for the mistake."

            Relena's eyes went wide. "There's _another_ Heero Yuy?" She couldn't believe it.

            The silence was so absolute that the sound of the grandfather clock slammed through the room like gunshots. For what seemed like hours but couldn't have been more than twenty minutes, no one spoke.

            Duo stormed back into the room, out of breath. The others were close behind him. "Couldn't... find a trace... anywhere." With obvious reluctance, he entered the room and plopped into a chair.

            Taki rolled her eyes. "Gee, _that's_ no surprise."

            "What do you mean?" the boy-Heero said.

            "Heero has spent the last four and a half years breaking into just about every kind of building, residence, museum, you name it. She's a pro at this. She's not about to let you catch her unless she wants you to."

            Duo said, "She?"

            Quatre gulped and exchanged expressions with Trowa and Duo. Instantly, they recalled the sauna earlier that morning.

            "She?" Duo squeaked out again in disbelief.

            Taki gave them an odd look. "Ye...ah..." _What's wrong with them? _

            Quatre's face began turning a dark shade of red.

            Even Trowa blinked a couple of times before he regained his composure and crossed the room to take the unread note from Heero's hands.

            "What is it?" Heero asked as the implications of this changed every face in the room.

            "We, uh, we had a bath with you this morning, Heero," Duo managed to force out.

            Cobalt eyes went wide.

            Taki threw back her head and laughed. "Oh my god! I never would have guessed that she'd have the guts to—to—  Oh, this just keeps getting better and better!"

            Relena cleared her throat. "I... I had a talk with you yesterday evening."

            Heero couldn't hide the mounting rage in his eyes. _In February, I'd thought that they were all playing a joke on me. They told me there was someone out there who knew I'd been captured and had come to break me out, but they'd said he looked just like me, acted like me, dressed like me, spoke like me, was me. I knew it couldn't be true. So I'd assumed it was one of Maxwell's pranks._

_            ..._

_            Shit._

            Heero lifted his gaze to where Trowa was slowly re-reading the note. "What's it say?" he demanded. His look-a-like had come and gone, on a mission most likely. This was the only evidence that remained of that mission.

            Trowa lifted his usually bleak gaze and a flash of something—fascination, curiosity—crossed his face. He recited the memorized phrase, "Omae o korosu."

**.**

**~End of Chapter 3~**


	6. Chapter 4: Death and Damage Control

**The Perfect Soldier**

**Chapter 4: Death and Damage Control**

**.**

**            "Whatever you do,** do _not_ open that present!" Duo shouted.

            But Trowa's hands were on it, fiddling with the wrapping.

            "Trowa!" Quatre said, following Duo's lead. "What are you doing?"

            Trowa's eyebrows drew together.

_            "Do you ever wonder about who you are?"_

            "There could be _anything_ in that box!"

            "Use your head, Barton," Wufei scolded.

_            "And if you had the chance to know? Would you want it?"_

            "No..." Trowa muttered. "It's not that kind of death."

_            "Would you want it?"_

_            "I don't know."_

            "Trowa?" Quatre whispered, shocked. "What are you talking about?"

            "He... _she_ asked me something when we played chess last night... asked me if I ever wondered who I really was..."

            "T-trowa?" Duo stuttered.

            "The note is addressed to Trowa Barton, not Nanashi."

            It came to all of them in a flash of insight. Tears pushed at Quatre's eyes, but he blinked them back. "Your... your past is in that box?"

            Slowly, the Heavyarms pilot nodded. His slim hands slowly caressed the box.

_            "And if you had the chance to know? Would you want it?"_

            Green eyes narrowed. _I don't know._

            Taki stared in silence. She'd always thought that the missions Heero went off on weren't life threatening or harmful to others, but she'd never expected this. _You'd give this man back his past? My God, Heero. I thought I knew you, but then you hand me this new mystery. What goes on inside your head?_

            "The note is a warning. If... if I don't want to know, I should destroy this now, before I open it."

            "How can you even think it?" Duo replied, suddenly changing sides. "That's you in there! How can you just _not know_?"

            Taki silently agreed with him.

            Trowa's hands made small, restless movements against the seam of paper. His face pulled into a frown. "If I open this, I can't be Trowa Barton anymore."

            Duo gripped his shoulders, shaking him lightly. "What if you have a family, Trowa? What if you _belong_ with people who are waiting for you?"

            His eyes squeezed closed. _That's why I'm hesitating. I promised to protect you myself, Kathy. _

            What if he had a family business somewhere that he was obligated to return to? Once, he'd appreciated Quatre's niche within his own family, but now... Trowa had been on his own so long... Could he return to these unknown obligations now that he'd made promises of his own?

_            What would Kathy tell me to do? What would she want?_

            His eyes opened.

_            She would want me to know._

            His long fingers slipped under the paper, pulling the adhesive loose. Everyone in the room waited with breathless anticipation as Trowa slowly, deftly revealed the plain, white box.

            "Open it. Open it," Duo chanted.

            The suspense was killing him.

            Trowa was unmoved, he was so focused. He found the crease in the box where the lid had been tucked in. With gentle hands, he pressed it apart. Duo and Quatre leaned over his shoulders as the top fell back. They had to dig their fingers into Trowa's shoulders to keep from tearing at the froth of tissue paper that obscured the contents from their eyes.

            Heero, Wufei, Relena, and Taki watched with just as much interest, but from a short distance. They wanted to give Trowa _some_ space, at least.

            His hands pushed at the tissue, his gaze never leaving the mystery in front of him, his mind completely ignoring the weight on his shoulders. Something brown and soft and fuzzy was hidden in the depths of the box. Glimpses of it through the veil of wrapping quickened Trowa's pulse. He reached in and pulled out a small, worn teddy bear.

            Behind him, Duo chuckled. "I guess Heero, er, that girl, did have a stuffed animal with her after all..."

            Trowa stared with big eyes, his hands holding the toy under its outstretched arms.

_            "It's time you grew up, Nanashi. There's no place for toys on the battlefield. And there's no place for children in a war."_

_            "No! I want my teddy! Teddy!"_

_            "This is your first lesson, Nanashi. Be strong. Learn from this or the next ones will be even harder."_

_            "N-no! Give me back my teddy!"_

_            *Smack!*_

_            "This is what happens in a war, Nanashi. People will take everything from you. But you have to be strong or they'll conquer you. Do you understand?"_

_            "I-I just want my teddy back!"_

            Trowa didn't realize there were tears running down his face. His hands trembled as he pulled the bear closer and inhaled. A small sound of joy escaped his tightened throat as the familiar scent of flowery perfume washed over him. He'd always imagined that this was his mother's scent, that she'd been the one to give him this precious toy, that she'd held both of them in her arms, imprinting her scent on the fabric of the bear. Although he couldn't picture her, this bear had always made him imagine that she was close.

_            Mother..._

            He cradled the bear close to his chest, his head bent over it and his tears soaking its ears. The child's toy was almost completely obscured by Trowa's larger body as his arms crushed it.

            He said, his voice impossibly soft, "I'd... I'd forgotten."

            Taki sighed and whispered to herself. "Yeah, normal people forget, but Heero remembers _everything._" And for the first time in her life, Taki wasn't irritated by that. 

.****

**            All his life,** Heero had only ever had one dream as he'd slept unguarded and vulnerable. Long ago, in the beginning of his life as a soldier, it had been the one possession he hadn't been able to let go. It had comforted him in the face of his nightmares. It had soothed him after a battle with death. It had strengthened him when the pain was so intense he knew he could not go on. It had given him hope that he wouldn't die alone, surrounded by the screams of anguish, of battle. 

            It was a simple dream, really. More sensation than vision. He was surrounded by darkness, tense, expecting an attack from the enemy. Instead, an embrace stole around him and held him close and safe. In the dream, he was surrounded by the scent of another soldier, but was comforted by it. For years he'd kept this dream a secret, lest it be stolen from him by the scientists and killers who trained him. And even now, he allowed himself to remember it on occasions when he needed that closeness, that comfort of another person. He supposed that Dr. J and the others had failed in their attempt to mold Heero into the perfect soldier; as long as Heero still craved contact with others, he could not be the perfect killing machine they had originally hoped he would become.

            Heero stared blankly at the dark screen of his laptop. His face was a mask; it was impossible for anyone to know that he was wrapped up inside of the dream, allowing himself the pleasure of human contact, a pleasure he did not seek out in his daily life.

            He was suddenly knocked out of those strong arms when someone rapped on his door. Rising, Heero Yuy shed the clinging remnants of the dream and crossed the plush carpet. The door whispered open. Relena was on the other side.

            Relena. Before she spoke, Heero studied the shape of her face, the shine of her hair. He admired her; she was young and beautiful and idealistic; things he could never be. He was drawn to her innocence and purity; he had seen so little of either in his short lifetime. However, during his self-imposed solitude in space these last months, he had realized that while he and Relena had lived during the same turbulent year, they had not experienced the same war. While she had survived the politics of the war, Heero had survived the battlefields. She would never understand the loneliness, the necessity of killing in cold blood, the toll that each action took upon your soul. No, she had been spared these things, and for that he was grateful. Her determination and spirit had enabled her to survive, to be compelled to realize her dream of a peaceful future for both Earth and the colonies.

            He had not been so fortunate. Heero had but one dream, an impossible dream, a dream of being comforted by his enemy: another human being. But that human being was not to be Relena. Although he saw the desire in her eyes to share a life with him, he would not allow it, would never allow it. Heero Yuy was a dead man; in the end, he would only succeed in destroying her innocence, her purity. During that final, fateful battle last Christmas Eve, he had vowed to himself that he would always protect her, that her idealism would survive. And until his final breath, he would do just that. But he had seen his destiny; he was to remain alone in this task.

            She said, concern in her eyes, "I wanted to check on you, to be sure you were alright."

            She was referring to the existence of his look-a-like. "I'm fine." He didn't think to invite her into his room; the further others were from him and his territory, the safer they would be.

            Her clear eyes examined his face. "I know it's premature to suggest, but, if this other girl really is your sister—"

            "She isn't."

            Relena blinked. "How do you know?"

            How did he know? He didn't. But he told her, "It's too much of a coincidence." And it was. There had to be another hand in this, orchestrating. Although Heero had always known it was possible, even likely, that he had siblings somewhere, he had accepted the fact that he would never find them, did not want to find them. However, in the event that he did, somehow, manage to locate his family, he had never expected that identifying them would be as simple as looking in a mirror. If what everyone said was true, then this other Heero was his double. He could have accepted that, perhaps, in an identical twin. But a paternal? No, it wasn't possible that he had a sister who looked just like him. She would have needed make up at the very least to complete the illusion. But the other pilots claimed (blushing as they did so) to have seen her in the sauna and the steam gathering on her face had not disturbed her mask. To his knowledge, there existed no such miracle make up. And what about her training? Trowa had said she'd moved and acted exactly like a soldier, a pilot. How had she acquired those skills?

            Heero swallowed a sigh. There were so many questions and so many possible answers. Would he ever discover the truth? Again, he didn't know.

            Relena's compassionate eyes didn't waver from Heero's face. Her emotions in her eyes, she reached out to him and took his hand in hers. "When I discovered that my parents had died years ago, and that the Darlians had never been my mother or father, I... I was lost. But you were there, Heero. You gave me the strength to fight the people who had destroyed my family."

            Heero shook his head. "I gave you nothing. That was your own strength, Relena."

            Her eyes questioned him. But she said nothing. Heero waited until she'd gathered her thoughts again. "I have to leave tomorrow morning. A conference for a couple of days. I wish I could be here for you..."

            The young soldier shook his head. "This is my battle, just as your parents' deaths were yours. There is nothing you can do."

            "I can care," she retorted softly, knowingly. "And there's nothing you can do about that." She turned as if to go, but paused. When she glanced back at him, his mask hadn't slipped. His gaze was dispassionate, as always. "I hope she really is your sister; I hope she is everything a sister should be. Stay here as long as you like if it helps you find her."

            She left him with his thoughts, then. And as he watched her walk away, he felt a loosening in his gut. Relief. She would not get in the way. She would stay safe. 

            From what information he had been able to gather from the others, his double seemed capable of anything and everything that Heero was capable of. That made her a very dangerous target. And yes, in Heero's mind, she had become a target. The moment she had declared her existence to the others months ago, she had become a target. Unfortunately, he was only now taking the implied threat seriously. There must be no more mistakes.

            Heero knew what he had to do. He also knew that he could not do it on an empty stomach. 

**. **

**            Duo yawned as** he pushed through the swinging doors into the kitchen. God, he was hungry. And tired. It had taken him a few moments of reflection before he'd decided to place food before sleep; he doubted that his stomach would let him get any rest until it was satisfied. 

            It had been a long day. First he'd discovered that his bathing partner had been a girl (who'd somehow managed to borrow a bathrobe from Relena—a _very _disturbing thought) and not the _real_ Heero (still disturbing, but it would have been worse if the real Heero had turned out to be a girl). And then Trowa had been killed. What was next? No, wait. It was better not to ask.

            He rubbed his eyes with his knuckles to wake them up and smothered a second yawn. At this rate, he'd fall asleep in his Cocoa Puffs. Duo finally pried his eyes open long enough to take a quick survey of the kitchen. And there was Heero standing in front of the window in the breakfast nook. Just standing. He didn't have a cup of coffee, or a sandwich; there was nothing in his hands. His arms were crossed over his chest, and he was simply standing there. Looking out the window.

            It must have been the set of his shoulders that did it, but Duo had the urge to wrap his arms around the lone figure. Often, Duo was sure he saw the loneliness in Heero, often he empathized with it. But Heero was so alone, and the barrier that encased him so thick, that Duo could never just hug him. So it had to be banter, jokes, wisecracks. That was all that Duo seemed to be capable of tossing at the wall Heero wore. Someday, he'd get him to laugh, Duo was sure. Someday. But probably not today.

            Duo accepted his defeat even as he stepped forward and placed a hand on Heero's shoulder. "Well, it's not much of a view," he said, referring to the driveway Heero was contemplating, "but if it makes you happy..."

            A look passed over Heero's face that Duo almost recognized. It was so fleeting that it was gone before he could be sure. But he thought he saw a flicker of questioning, of vulnerability, and it made him want to make everything all right. When Heero said nothing, Duo acknowledged the silent rebuff and removed his had from the stiff shoulder. "I'm gonna fix some cereal. You interested?"

            Heero's dark eyes finally turned and locked with Duo's gaze. A long moment passed, far too long for Heero to simply be deciding if he wanted some teeth-rotting Cocoa Puffs. Duo suppressed a shiver and tried to look unassuming; something was going on behind those eyes.

            Slowly, deliberately, Heero replied, "No. I have work to do."

            "Work, work, work," Duo mocked in a light tone.  "Don't you have a hobby? Like collecting stamps or taking long walks or something? You must've had plenty of free time doing whatever it is you're doing in outer space."

            Still, there was no smile.

            "Although, I personally think that stamp collecting is for you. I can tell you're destined to be a great stamp collector. All the stamp collectors will know your name. Think about what wonderfully boring fun it'll be. It might even compete with spending time with your laptop."

            Nothing.

            It wasn't as if he'd been expecting anything different.

            Duo squashed his disappointment with a smile. "Well, I'm hungry." 

            Heero watched as Duo fussed about in the kitchen, his braid waving happily. He still felt the warmth of Duo's hand on his shoulder and he knew that in his dismissal of Duo's offer of friendship he'd failed himself yet again. The dream was as yet, unrealized. And it never would be. He was Heero Yuy, after all. But this time was different. This time he felt strange, as if he'd not only failed himself, but failed Duo as well.

            It was time to get to work.

            He tossed a "'Night" over his shoulder and fled the room, pretending not to hear            Duo's parting reply. 

.****

**            The young man** who'd called himself Nanashi and then, later, Trowa Barton, slowly turned over the slim diskette that had been the only other item in the box. No one else had seen it, yet. And he intended to keep it that way.

            His decision to learn about his past had been made far too quickly he now realized. This was something that should be thought out with great care and consideration with regard to current circumstances. This was a path to be taken after, and only after, objectively and methodically evaluating the external factors that would be affected by the information. 

            Long, elegant hands turned over the diskette again and again. Green eyes shifted from the play of the moonlight over the holographic surface to the scene beyond his bedroom window. His gaze sharpened as he caught sight of two racing snowflakes. They fluttered down, down, past the window casing and onward toward the pale landscape below. More snowflakes followed.

_            I must be cautious. Even though my past may be a dead thing—even though I may confirm the fact that I am alone—the very knowledge and certainty of that fact will have effects that even I cannot predict._

            He turned the disk over and silently, objectively, emotionlessly, wondered at the power this woman had encased in such a small object. It was temptation itself. And for that very reason, he knew that he must resist its power over him—its silent, siren's call—until he was prepared to take the necessary risks involved with eliminating his ignorance.

            In the smaller, more intimate reality of the night, he was able to see that the situation was far more complicated than he'd initially thought. That afternoon, he'd only looked so far as himself and Kathy, but now...

            Now, unanswered questions plagued him.

            Who was this girl who looked so much like and called herself Heero Yuy?

            Who was this girl who was like the night wind, itself?

            She had been seamless in her performance. He had rationally convinced himself that she was Heero Yuy. 

            He should have listened to his emotions, as Heero had once told him.

_            How ironic. Heero gave me that advice and then I ignored it in only his case._

            Still holding the diskette, he leaned against the wall beside the window, letting the heavy, winter curtains fall over his shoulder. He crossed his ankles and then his arms and contemplated the falling snow.

            He realized now that she could have given him back his past not because she was a kind person, like Quatre, but for other reasons, reasons that made sense only to her. It was not only possible but most likely that her own personal motivations had played the main role in delivering this information to him. To her, this would be one more step in some elaborate game toward accomplishing her goal. And because of that very real possibility, he could not trust her.

            But at the same time, he could not ignore the promise he held in his hand.

_            I must understand her motives before I can even consider viewing this data._

_          I must know why she chose me. My life or my death is of little consequence. So why did she give me this gift?_

            His eye lids twitched at that thought. 

_            A gift. How long has it been since I've received one?_

            His gaze hardened.

_            A long time. Perhaps she was counting on this weakness. Perhaps she had been hoping to exploit it._

            He turned the disk between his slim fingers.

_            I cannot afford to be reckless._

            He thought of Kathy: the only person he could have called a sister.

            He thought of Quatre, Heero, and Wufei: the only people he could have called close friends.

            For their sakes, he would be cautious.

            For their sakes, he did this.

            With a motion of his wrist, the disk disappeared into the depths of a pocket of his faded, white jeans.

            He leaned away from the window and walked toward his door on silent yet determined feet. Mindful of the late hour, Trowa approached Heero's door. He doubted that the Wing pilot would be asleep, so he knocked softly out of consideration to Duo and Wufei, who had rooms on either side of his.

            The door opened without a sound. Heero was still dressed and the blue glow of the laptop screen illuminated the room behind him.

            Trowa said, "I want to help you find her."

            Yuy's eyes narrowed but he nodded. "It's not going to be easy," he said, his voice expressionless in the face of a mission.

            Trowa nodded. He wouldn't have expected otherwise.

**.**

**~End of Chapter 4~**


	7. Chapter 5: The Hunt Begins

**The Perfect Soldier**

**Chapter 5: The Hunt Begins**

. ****

**            The sound of **fingers clicking against laptop keyboards greeted Taki for the fourth day in a row as she made her way from her room at the end of the guest hall to the stairs. First, she passed Trowa's room. As usual, his door was cracked open, allowing the sounds of the others to be easily accessible to him. And then, a few doors down, the sounds were fainter as they slipped underneath Heero's closed door. She sighed and shook her head. Although the two of them certainly were dedicated to uncovering the female Heero's whereabouts, they were never going to succeed like that. 

            "They still haven't figured it out yet," Taki muttered to herself, remembering the hard lessons she'd learned during the course of trying to find Heero over the years. "Well, I'm not about to begrudge anyone their educational experiences," she concluded with a slight grin. "It took me long enough to figure her out... it's their turn to give it a try."

            Her hand slid down the banister as she descended to the sound of the clock striking one in the afternoon. She thought back to the two young men, painstakingly stalking the Internet and wondered when they'd run out of army rations and water... or whatever it was they were living off of. One thing was for sure; she couldn't stand the sound of their constant clicking for one more hour unless she got a serious chocolate refill. So Taki made a bee line for the kitchen.

            She paused at the door, hearing Duo's voice filter through as he spoke loudly, as was his wont. "You really think this girl's Heero's sister? I mean, they can do a lot with plastic surgery these days."

            "Well," Quatre replied hesitantly, "even if she isn't his sister, the resemblance still needs to be explained, doesn't it?"

            "I guess you're right... But hey, I think it's just my suspicious nature talking. I find it really difficult to believe that someone who can keep Trowa at bay for a good four hours on a chess board _and_ looks just like Heero is too freaky to be taken at face value."

            A third voice—Wufei's—spoke up. "Don't forget about the ghost who sent us anonymous information during the war. She knew about Heero's mission last February and that it had been compromised. They could be connected."

            "Way too many questions," Duo agreed. "I wonder how they're coming on their search."

            "The last time I walked by their rooms I still heard both of them at their computers," Quatre offered. A chair scuffed softly against the floor. "I haven't seen Trowa this... concerned about anything in a long time. I can hear his computer through the wall in my room when I wake up and when I go to sleep. I feel so useless, not helping."

            Wufei made a disgusted sound. "They're not going to find her like that, anyway."

            Outside of the kitchen, Taki nodded appreciatively.

            "Whatdaya mean, Wufei?"

            She practically heard the obsidian eyes narrow. "I was studying the strategy she used in the chess game with Trowa. The harder the offensive, the further away she retreats." 

            "Hm," Duo mused, scraping his coffee mug across the wooden tabletop. "If that's so, they should be realizing their mistake any day now, huh?"

            Taki took that as her cue. She pushed to door open and said, "Mistake? Did someone say something about a mistake? You must be talking about a man. You have no idea how much the male gender could learn from us females if they'd just take the time to ask, but hey, they're men. They'd rather be slowly roasted over an open flame before asking for help... or directions... which reminds me... sometimes Heero is too masculine for her own damn good. Man, when I get my hands on her, I'm going to kill her for not telling me about this whole mess. And I'm also going to kill her for taking off like this... totally without regard for me and my curiosity... some friend she is..."

            Wufei rolled his eyes toward a blank wall and tried to ignore the dark-haired youth's undisciplined ranting.

            Duo blinked. "_When_ you get your hands on her?"

            "Well, yeah. I mean, she can run but she can't hide from me forever."

            "You could find her?" Quatre asked, blue eyes blinking, making him look even more adorable in his inquisitiveness than he already was.

            "Sure. It'd take me a couple of days, but I could do it. I've been tracking her for years. I've almost got the process down to a science..."

            "So why don't you tell Heero?" Quatre suggested.

            Taki shrugged and opened the fridge. "He hasn't asked."

            "He hasn't...?"

            Duo blinked.

            Wufei growled, "As if you haven't noticed, Heero's dead set on locating this woman, and he's not going to stop until he does."

            "Yup," Taki agreed, pulling out a carton of chocolate milk.

            Wufei blinked. "And you refuse to help them?"

            "I didn't say I refused. I said he didn't ask me for my help. If he'd just get his head out of his... well, you know, then sure, I'd give him a hand. But I can't make it too easy, after all, it took me _years_ to develop this technique. I'm not about to just _give_ it away."

            She thanked Duo as he handed her a glass. She brushed past him and took a seat at the table.

            Quatre took one look at Wufei's sour expression and decided to change the subject. "So, how long have you known... her?" 

            He blushed every time he spoke in reference to Heero, obviously remembering the sauna several days ago. Taki still wished she'd been there to see it. _How did she pull that off, anyway?_

            Taki said, "Well, we've been partners since we ran into each other during a heist about four and half years ago."

            "A heist?" Duo echoed. "I know I didn't just hear you say that."

            Taki sent him a quick glare over her shoulder. "Of course that's what I just said. Why bother asking if that's what I just said when you know that's what I just said?"

            Wufei shook his head and smothered a groan.

            Quatre blinked.

            Taki continued, "We both needed some cash, I guess, so we broke into the federal shipping docks where all the old bills are shipped back to the reserve. I practically fell over her. That was kind of funny. It was also the first time I ever heard those famous words."

            "..."

            "..."

            "..."

            Taki sighed and quoted, "'Omae o korosu...'"

            Duo's expression morphed into one of reluctant belief. "Let me get this straight. _You're_ a thief?"

            She grinned. "I'm retired, thank you."

            Wufei blinked. _A retired thief..._

            "Actually," she continued, obviously ignoring everyone's surprise. "We prefer the term 'wealth re-distributor.'"

            Duo snorted.

            Quatre still stared in awe, blinking occasionally.

            Wufei put his head in his hands and told himself he was not listening to this conversation.

            "Retired?" Duo said, bringing his and everyone else's thoughts around to the topic at hand. "That's just a fancy way of saying you gave up 'cause you weren't any good."

            Taki nearly choked on her chocolate milk. A pair of red-brown eyes narrowed on Duo. "I take it you want a demonstration?"

            He grinned. "Well... if it's not too much trouble..."

            Taki grinned back and reached into the pocket of her faded jeans and pulled out a pack of gum. "Oh, no trouble at all. Anybody want some gum?" She waved the pack at the others.

            Quatre and Wufei declined. Duo took one look at the wrapper and grinned. "Since you're offering _and_ that's my favorite kind..." He took two sticks, popping one into his mouth and shoving the other into his pocket... his now somewhat deflated pocket. His eyes went wide. "What the...?" He stood up and shoved his hands in his pockets, attempting to locate the nearly full pack of gum he _knew_ he'd stashed there.

            Taki grinned. "Looking for this?"

            She held out the pack of gum to him.

            Maxwell's jaw went slack as he finally realized that he'd been had.

            Quatre chuckled.

            Wufei laughed softly and mentally saluted Taki. _She maybe undisciplined and dishonorable, but anyone who can fool Maxwell at his own game deserves some sort of acknowledgment._

            "How... how did you...?"

            She grinned. "It's all in the wrist."

            Duo growled at her and snatched the pack from her palm. He was about to loudly protest the abduction of one of his personal items when the kitchen door swung open. They all turned in surprise as Trowa stepped into the room, leaving the second floor of the mansion for the first time in days.

            "Trowa?" Quatre said, almost dazed. "Did you find her?"

            "Maybe," the quiet young man said. He reached for his and Heero's coats on the rack before heading back to the door.

            "You want some help?" Duo offered, itching for some action.

            Trowa shook his head. "Too many of us would be obvious."

            Duo slouched over the table. "Yeah." 

            The kitchen door swung shut behind him and a moment later, the front door opened and closed as well. Duo glanced at Taki out of the corner of his eye. "You think they really found her?"

            Taki grinned. "Not a chance."

**.**

            **Heero trudged** through the front door of the Darlian estate, letting it click shut behind him. Bone weary and wrung out, he glanced longingly at the top of the stairs where his room was, but turned toward the kitchen instead. There was still much to be done and he needed at least one cup of coffee to keep him going.

            As he drew nearer, he thought he heard voices coming from the kitchen. It sounded like someone was having a party in there.

            "Hey, baby, how about sharing some of that...? Ow! Whatdya hit me for?"

            "This is _my_ carton of Godiva ice cream. Get your own."

            Reluctantly, Heero pushed the door open. Only the promise of coffee could have induced him into entering the kitchen. Slowly, a very unusual scene was revealed before him. Everyone was sitting around the table eating ice cream. Relena had a modest amount of vanilla in a bowl, as did Wufei. Quatre had made himself a black cherry waffle cone and was laughing uncontrollably as Taki and Duo battled over the remains of a carton of chocolate raspberry. Heero ignored them all and proceeded toward the coffee machine. 

            "Heero!" Relena said. "Did you find her?"

            "... no..."

            Duo blinked.

            Taki muttered something that sounded like "no surprise there."

            "Where's Trowa?" Quatre inquired after winding down.

            "He'll be along in a minute or so." Deft hands dumped a healthy scoop of grounds into the filter and shoved the holder back into place.

            "Would you like something to eat?" Relena asked.

            "No. Thanks." Water splashed into the machine.

            Duo and Quatre exchanged looks. Heero's tense silence had squeezed the laughter out of the room. Anxiously, everyone waited for him to elaborate on how the search went. But he said nothing.

            The coffee was taking forever. As Heero glared at it, it seemed to intentionally slow its dripping rather than speed up. With an inaudible sigh, he leaned away from the counter. Spying yesterday's newspaper, he casually began to flip through the flimsy pages.

            From where she sat, Taki eyed Heero, a speculative gleam entering her eyes. Heero turned and glanced in her direction at that moment. Something flashed across cobalt eyes that made Taki think twice before opening her mouth. She bit her lip and returned to digging in the ice cream container.

            Heero glared at the machine again. The dark liquid had barely passed the one cup mark. "I'm going for a walk," he muttered to no one in particular. He abandoned the newspaper and slammed out the kitchen door, disappearing into the darkness of the gardens.

            "Well," Duo grouched, "I think that was one of his _better_ moods."

            Just then, the kitchen door swung open again, revealing Trowa. He was looking a bit worn out and eyed the coffee pot before hanging his jacket up on the rack.

            Something mischievous flashed in Taki's eyes. "So, where'd you look, Trowa?"

            He crossed the room and pulled a coffee mug from the cupboard. _Where didn't we look?_ "We started at the house on Centre Street..."

            "And then you just prowled the streets of Salzburg?" she finished for him. 

            He said nothing.

            Taki sighed. This guy took the art of understatement to a whole new level.

            Trowa propped himself up next to the coffee machine and waited for it to stop perking. Behind green eyes, his thoughts shifted to a battle over two years ago.

_            "I've continually fought and with each battle, I've been killing my own heart. And my heart has been completely void of feeling for quite a long time now. Maybe my life doesn't have value anymore, but I have to keep on living. ... I've got a home to go back to."_

            Trowa could feel the diskette in his pocket. He was so close to knowing about his real home. So close... But he couldn't read the data until he'd met with her again. He had to know...

_            Why me? Why not Heero?_

            Trowa felt a pang of something that could be very loosely described as regret or pity. Heero had refused to give up searching. Even now, he was prowling the grounds of the estate, unable to set foot in this house, unable to admit that he wasn't getting anywhere. They'd found nothing to go on during their relentless search. Absolutely nothing. And Trowa could see that it was taking its toll on the Wing pilot.

_            This isn't an ordinary mission,_ he mused. _And Heero doesn't know what to do now._

_            Finding her is an impossible necessity_.

            "What's wrong with you?" Duo inquired, spotting Taki's secret grin that she'd been trying to hide.

            She just shook her head and shoved a spoonful of chocolate and raspberries into her mouth.

            Trowa glanced at the coffee machine, which had stopped perking. "Thanks for making coffee," he said quietly. "How'd you know when I'd be coming back?"

            Quatre blinked at him. "Heero told us."

            "... Heero...?"

            "Yeah, man," Duo said, glancing at the back door, "he was... just... here..."

            Everyone watched with wide eyes as Trowa's face _changed expression_. And then with his jaw set he put his cup down with sudden force and sprinted toward the door.

            The kitchen door slammed shut behind him just as Taki's laughter refused to be confined any longer. "Man, oh man. When she's good, she's _good_."

            Wufei, Quatre, and Duo jumped to their feet and ran after Trowa, leaving a laughing Taki and a worried Relena in their wake.

**.**

**~End of Chapter 5~**


	8. Chapter 6: Rendezvous and Recollection

**The Perfect Soldier**

**Chapter 6: Rendezvous and Recollection**

. ****

**            "Yokaze..."** _Night wind.__ Yes, that was a perfect name for her._

            Green eyes reflected the meager light that seeped from around the heavy curtains covering the mansion's large, unblinking windows. Around him, the shadows were without depth or substance. 

_            She could be anywhere._

            He redoubled his silent efforts, sifting through the scattered shadows of the chill night. His breath froze, giving away his position and direction, so he tried to minimize his breathing. His pulse slowed and within a few seconds significantly less air was being dragged into his lungs and even more slowly released again.

_            It doesn't matter what I do. She knows where I am. She knew that I'd follow her. She's probably not even here. She's probably watching us from Heero's room. _

            Trowa glanced over his shoulder half expecting to see an inexplicable light on in Heero's room, but perfect darkness glowered down at him.

            He shook his head. What was wrong with him? He'd never been prone to such flights of fancy.

            His hands were numb, but he didn't move them anymore than he had to in order inspect the shadows; the less movement the better.

_            Where is Yuy? I left him at the front door and then he started to walk around the house... toward the garden..._

            Trowa's eyes narrowed.

_            They're _both_ out here._

            Although his facial expression didn't change, he felt his shoulders tense.

_            Sooner or later we'll find one or the other._

            A muffled _thump!_ echoed through the elaborate gardens followed closely by a breathless exclamation. "Shit! Ow! Hey guys—eek! Let my hair go, dammit! I've got her! Shit!"

            Trowa turned in mid-stride and rushed through the passages almost completely hidden by the shadows, following the sound of two bodies struggling together on the stone path.

            "Duo, you idiot!"

            "That's my name. Don't wear it out. Ow! Whatdya bite me for?"

            "Get off of me."

            Trowa's steps slowed as he broke through the foliage to see Duo sitting on top of a thin, sprawled figure. 

            "Is it her?" Quatre's voice preceded him through the tangle of branches and brush.

            "I'm positive," Duo ground out as he kept an extremely close eye on his catch.

            "I'm not." It was Wufei.

            "Now why doesn't that surprise me?" the Deathscythe pilot drawled.

            Wufei just glowered at him.

            Quatre cleared his throat and motioned toward the prone figure that had started growl from the back of her throat. "I suppose it's up to you to, uh, check, Duo."

            Duo sighed. "It's a dirty job, but... you know how it goes."

            With a swift and sure motion, Duo flipped the other figure over and with a smooth, practiced gesture tore the figure's green shirt from her pants and shoved it up to her chin. The dim light from the mansion reflected down upon the exposed flesh. Everyone and everything seemed to freeze, awaiting the results of Duo's survey.

            "Duo?" Quatre prompted.

            "Uh..." Duo grinned sheepishly at the narrowed cobalt eyes glaring at him from above the tangle of green fabric. "Uh... Heero... sorry, man, I—"

_            Thwack!_

           Duo crumpled under the assault of Heero's single round-house punch to the other boy's temple. With dignified calm, Heero rose to his feet and unwrapped his shirt from around his neck. As he proceeded to tuck his shirt into the waist of his jeans, Trowa stepped forward and shrugged the unconscious Maxwell over his shoulder.

            Nothing moved beyond their gathering in the darkness; nothing moved because there was nothing there. The mysterious visitor had slipped away.

            As they all turned away from the garden, Trowa Barton couldn't resist glancing over his shoulder. "Yokaze. The perfect soldier," he murmured to himself.

            No one heard him. The silence of the night was the only reply to his observation.

**.**

            **Taki stared** at the text of the newspaper that Heero had left on the counter for her. Yes, Taki knew that this message was for her and her alone. It hadn't taken a great deal of intuition to decipher the look on her face. Besides, there was a reason behind everything that Heero did. _Everything._

            "Dammit. What are you trying to tell me? You _know_ that I suck at trying to understand your obscure codes."

            She scanned the page, her brows lifting with artistic interest. "He-ey! The Salzburg Museum is going to be showing an exhibit on the evolution of the mecha. Full-body armor suits from the dark ages up through... present... day... Damn, she's good!"

            Taki grinned and reshuffled the paper. "Yes, I get the point, Yuy. I'll—"

            The sound of feet and then the soft opening and closing of a door to the room next to hers interrupted her thoughts. A small grin stretched across her lips.

            "As I was saying, I'll just find myself some transportation..."

            Next door, the shower spurted to life as the room's occupant prepared to indulge in one of his typical, long showers. She glanced at the clock. In silence, she carefully scheduled the tasks she would need to complete before meeting with her friend in the Salzburg Museum. 

. ****

**10:45****.**

            Taki had surveyed the assortment of vehicles in the mansion's circle drive and studied the make and model of her chosen ride. She'd always met with Heero at 11:40 p.m. and she had precious little time to accomplish her first objective. She studied the white bedroom door before her and sighed; all she knew about the location of the precious object she required was that it was somewhere within Wufei's suite, presumably _with Wufei._ Taki glanced up and down the main corridor of the guest wing. No one was in sight. She held in her sigh of relief for when she completed her mission. She cocked her head and listened very carefully to the sounds seeping from the room. As she had expected, the sound of running water was still issuing from the room's shower.

_            If his bathing routine doesn't change from the way it's been for the past week, that means I've got a good ten minutes more before I've got to boogie. That boy sure has a thing for being squeaky clean, that's for sure._

            She grinned. 

            And then she remembered that she'd never seen Wufei with his motorcycle keys. Which meant she'd have to search the entire place before she found them.

            Dammit.

            For a moment, she considered skipping the quest and hot-wiring the vehicle of her choice. But no, this was her best opportunity, right here. Taki moved back toward the door and slipped a thin tool from a small pocket in her boot. Within moments, she was inside Wufei's room.

            She blinked at the utter lack of personal belongings.

            It was hard to believe that one person could make do with single copy of Confucius's teachings for entertainment. She shuddered as she replaced the volume on the nightstand where she'd found it. She scanned the room, quickly coming to the realization that the bike's keys were probably carefully tucked away in their appropriate spot if not hidden. With necessary speed, she inspected every drawer, every pocket in every article of clothing she could find. Nothing resembling a set of keys could be found. With a heavy heart, her eyes focused on the bathroom door that stood slightly ajar. It was the only room she hadn't searched.

            The shower had been steady for the past five minutes. She hoped that it took another good five minutes to shampoo that gorgeous hair of his because she was going to need it.

            She flattened her hand against the door and peered in cautiously. From her vantage point, she could see the shower stall and a blurred figure on the other side of the glass. From the dark cascade falling down the figure's shoulders, she could tell that he had his back to the door. For now. 

            Taki slipped into the steam-filled room and gently replaced the door to its former position. She stayed low to the floor, trying not to stare at the tantalizing glimpses of male anatomy barely hinted at through the pebbled glass. As she got closer, she noticed the white suds in his hair. So, he was in the middle of a rinse cycle, was he? This was the best chance she'd have to move around the bathroom. She hoped that he was like normal people and closed his beautiful eyes when he was standing under the shower's spray. Her gaze swept the bathroom floor, coming in contact with a pair of white pants. She practically pounced on the article of clothing and managed to yank a set of keys from the left pocket. Counting seconds in her head, Taki retreated toward the door. She was inches away when his form shifted on the other side of the glass. He pulled his hair over his shoulder to massage his neck. 

            Taki's mouth went dry and fell open at the sight of his blurred but obviously muscled naked back arching with the motion of his arm to rub at the tension in his nape. He lifted his arms and placed them on the tiled wall. With a half growl, half sigh, he lowered his head and allowed the water to pound at his tensed back. And then he shook his head and mumbled something. In spite of herself, Taki strained to make it out.

            "... he's going soft. What was he thinking? She's not _Yokaze_; she's human, like the rest of us. We'll find her. She can't hide forever. And Trowa, well, he's going to have to learn how to control his imagination..."

            Her heart lodged in her throat at the words murmured so sensually from his throat. Later she would examine their meanings... 

_            Must make it to the door... _

            Yet, even as she reached behind her to do just that, his figure shimmered again as he leaned back, exposing his chest to the spray and wiping his hair out of his eyes. Her hand froze in mid-air. She could no more peel her eyes from those slim, wet hips than she could not interrogate Heero about what in the hell she was up to.

            "... and this… _friend_ of… _Heero's_… a thief. Dishonorable and manipulative and... and..."

_            And fuck you._

            With a great force of will, she tore her eyes from the image before her and slipped through the door before she could make her presence known by objecting to his harsh evaluation of her. She shot through the room. Her single-minded determination to get the hell out before she went postal was the only thing that kept her from glancing over her shoulder. With swift silence, she slipped through the door. As the lock clicked shut, Wufei's voice echoed softly through the bedroom as the shower stopped.

            "... and very… _loyal_."

            From the circle drive, the sound of someone gunning a motorcycle engine drowned out anything else that Wufei Chang might have said.

. ****

            **She took her time** sketching the suits of armor and model mechas while she waited for Heero to show up. It had been a routine matter to break into the museum; she'd been doing this sort of thing for years. In fact, she was so confidant of her stealth abilities, that she often forgot place and time when she chose to create her illicit sketches. So, she was more than a little surprised when she finally glanced at her watch and noticed that it was well after midnight.

            Taki sat up and examined the shadows of the vault more closely. Had she misread Heero's signal? Had she come a day too early? Taki sighed and reluctantly began to gather up her supplies. Within a few moments, she was carefully navigating her way back through the maze of security systems. It was nearly one in the morning when Taki slipped into the darkened ally where she'd left the borrowed motorcycle.

            She grinned as it came into view. Man, oh man, Wufei would be _pissed_ if he knew that she'd taken his ride for the night. Her grin widened even further as she pictured his reaction when he realized how she'd discovered the keys.

_            Well, he deserved it. And I am_ not_ dishonorable or manipulative._

            She paused and dug through her pockets to re-locate the keys.

_            I just can't figure out why I'm actually dwelling on what he said. He doesn't know the first thing about me. So why does it matter, anyway?_

            Taki shook her head as her fingers closed around the keys. 

_            What's more important is what he said about Trowa. He called someone Yokaze—night wind—and it must have been my Heero. I wonder what's going on inside his head? It is possible that he and Heero, or rather Yokaze ...?_

            She stepped into the shadows, where she'd left the bike, and was nearly startled to death when she brushed up against a warm, solid body. She whipped around, only to find herself face to face with a pair of angry, black, slanted eyes.

            Wufei Chang held out his hand. "My keys."

            Taki recovered quickly and grinned. "You mean you don't have a spare set for emergencies?"

            A muscle ticked along his jaw.

            She slid onto the bike's seat in one smooth motion. Wufei Chang felt his pulse zip through his veins at the casual yet sensual action. With a fat grin, she glanced over her leather-clad shoulder at him and inquired, "Can I give you a lift?"

            His dark eyes narrowed and he snorted. "_It is my bike_," he pointed out as he stepped closer.

            Taki chuckled. "Jeez. You've gotta be _technical_."

            A moment of silence followed her remark and she looked up. She found herself ensnared in his serious, somber eyes. "Yes," he said very quietly. "I do."

            She managed a flippant show of rolling her eyes. "Man, you have _got_ to lighten up. Egad, you are as bad as Heero and God knows the universe only needs one of her at any given time. Now get your butt on the bike, already."

            With reluctance, he complied. _I can't believe I haven't just dumped her on the street and taken off with _my_ bike. What's gotten into me?_ Yet even as these thoughts stampeded through the Dragon Clan heir's mind, he was settling in behind Taki, wrapping his arms around the slight young woman who seemed capable of coaxing his common sense into taking an extended vacation.

            With ease and expertise benefiting the professional wealth-redistributor, she coaxed the moody engine to life. Wufei gritted his teeth as the purring of the motor echoed up through the seat, making his body gravitate closer to the infuriating female. 

            In very short order, Wufei realized that Taki had a need for speed. As they came out of a ninety-degree right turn coasting at a smooth 45 miles per hour, he found his hands clutching her vest.

            "Loosen up already!" she shouted back to him. "You trying to puncture one of my lungs?"

            He yanked his fingers away from her with a start when he realized exactly _where_ his hands were clenched on her torso. He briefly considered placing his hands on her hips but discarded that thought immediately. When the bike swerved to avoid a truck pulling out from an alley, he reached behind him and gripped the backrest, but the action only pressed his hips and torso against her. With gritted teeth, he found the idea of enduring the remainder of the ride distinctly distasteful. However, no sooner had he decided that he disliked his present situation than Taki guided the screeching bike through the gates of Relena's estate. 

            When she braked to a stop in the circle drive, Wufei peeled himself off of the seat and glowered at her. Taki had the unfortunate luck to look up at his face while she retrieved her bag from the side compartment. He looked like he was experiencing severe bowel distress. The man had to be addicted to antacids.

            He finally said, or rather, growled, "You are as careless with your driving as you are with your mouth."

            Taki gaped at the venom in his normally dispassionate voice. "What in the hell is that supposed to mean?"

            Wufei Chang felt a unique, restless sensation—a sensation caused by the woman in front of him—and that guided his irritation right to Taki. "If you had a shred of honor in your being you would never have disclosed the fact that you were a thief, let alone be one at all."

            Her eyes narrowed. "Has it ever occurred to you that I might be _proud_ of my accomplishments as a thief? Has it ever occurred to you that I take pride in _not _being a victim? Let me ask you this, how many occupations do you think are available for young, homeless females, Chang?" With a snort of disgust, she shrugged her ever-present backpack onto her shoulder. "It seemed to me, at the time, that being a thief was a lot more _honorable_ than being someone's plaything."

            He said nothing, simply stood and stared at her, his face a blank mask.

            She said, feeling the wound burn both from his comments now and from earlier, when he hadn't known she was listening, "Are you always such a prick?"

            He didn't answer, but his fists twitched by his sides. Taki dug into her pocket and pulled out the bike keys. "Here." She tossed them without looking at him and then turned on her heel and disappeared into the dark mansion.

            Wufei stared after her for a moment before turning his attention onto the keys he'd caught in a reflexive movement. He imagined that he could still feel the heat on them from being in her pocket. His fist closed around them, crushing any lingering sensation of warmth. 

            He silently swore at himself. Why had he said that? And why did he care that she'd been an orphan? Why did he despise her image of him? Why was he even still thinking about it? He spat an obscenity into the darkness and wished like hell he could start this vacation over again.

. ****

**            "The man who** calls himself Trowa Barton..."

            Pair of green eyes stared through unruly brown hair at the computer monitor. For a brief moment, he considered closing the file. He considered not reading anymore, not allowing his fabricated personality to be dismantled totally, leaving him with, perhaps, a real future. But he and Heero had been unsuccessful at determining the location of the imposter. The girl named Taki had even complained about being stood up last night when she'd gone to meet with the other Heero. No one had any ideas. The only thing he could hope for was that he could, by reading this file, discover some clue as to her whereabouts. He closed his eyes for an instant, dragged a fortifying breath into his lungs, and began to read.

            "The man who calls himself Trowa Barton was born in the countryside just outside of Nice, France, A.C. 179 as Triton Bloom..."

_            Bloom?_ His eyes widened. _ That's..._

            Quickly he scanned the data, shocked when he read the decisive phrase, "...only remaining relative... sister, Katherine Bloom, an employee at a traveling circus..."

            He sat frozen at the desk, disbelieving.

            And then his training took command of his brain. _It's an easy guess. That's all it is. None of this is true. _He scanned the information with customary distance and detachment. He memorized all of it, of course, but believed none of it. Trowa rose from his chair and crossed his room. He was about to open his door, intending to ponder this new development elsewhere when an odd object caught his eye. His gaze was drawn toward his bed. After a moment, he realized that the foreign object was the foot of the teddy bear. But that wasn't what kept his attention. There was writing on the seam of the pad.

            Trowa let himself down onto the bed and pulled the bear carefully from underneath a large pillow. With a single finger, he traced the name. It was written in a delicate cursive. It was also faded and blurred with age. He tucked the bear under his arm to steady it and brought the signature closer to his eyes. 

_            "Here, sweetheart, I have a present for you. It's a teddy bear."_

            The memory wrapped around him and he remembered sitting in a woman's embrace. He remembered her perfume. He saw her hand move as she wrote out something on the foot of the bear.

_            "There. I've put your name on him. That way everyone will know that he belongs to you."_

_            He felt her lips in his hair as she kissed him. She gave him one last squeeze and he gathered the bear closer to him._

            The memory dissolved around Trowa and he realized that he was clutching the bear. With an urgency he had not allowed himself to feel in years, he lifted the thing to his nose and inhaled. Yes, it smelled like the woman. And the name on the foot... 

            He moved closer to the light in order to be sure that he read it correctly.

            After a moment of studying the script, he looked up and at the computer monitor, where his file was waiting patiently for his return. His fingers tensed around the toy. _Could it... could it be true?_

            Trowa stared at the stuffed bear, completely still.  It took him a full minute to realize the odd emotion warming him from the inside was hope.

. ****

**~End of Chapter 6~**


	9. Chapter 7: Chasing After

**The Perfect Soldier**

**Chapter 7: Chasing After**

. ****

**            Taki opened her **eyes, her dream still fresh in her mind. She'd had it before, several times, actually. And it was always the same. She was in a large, underground room, looking up and up and up and finally into the face of a mecha suit unlike any other. She had the feeling that it had been built for her or to protect her, but she could never be sure. All she knew was that she felt loyal to it. It was all very odd.

            She reached for her backpack, which was less than an inch away from her arm and sat up. She had to draw the suit. She'd never seen another suit like it and, somehow, she knew that it was important that she remember, that she record it. It didn't matter that she had hundreds of other sketches of the thing. She was compelled to draw it, to honor it.

            Her brow furrowed as she continued to dig through her bag but was unable to find her antique mechanical drawing tool. She turned the bag upside down and began dumping the contents onto her bed. She shook the bag and then put it aside. Taki sifted through the amazing variety of items, but was unable to identify the one object she sought.

            "Damn damn damn," she chanted under her breath. "What?" She stopped when her fingers uncovered an unfamiliar diskette. It was simply labeled with the name: "Taki Daemon," but the handwriting was immediately familiar. 

            "Heero... you didn't stand me up after all." Momentarily forgetting about the missing drawing tool, she inserted the disk into her laptop and began to read.

. ****

**            "Good morning, Trowa." **

            A pair of green eyes stared, unexpressive, at the image on the monitor. His sister smiled even though she was smiling at a recorder.

_            My sister._

            A muscle twitched near his eye and his expression softened a fraction.

            "I hope that you're enjoying your vacation. When you get back I hope you'll tell me about it. Oh, please say 'hello' to everyone for me." She seemed to gather herself for the real purpose of her message. "The manager has just informed us that our schedule is changing. Apparently, L6490 has postponed our visit there due to some technical difficulties with the colony's weather system. So we're bound for L2. I hope this message finds you before you decide to come back to work because, well, we're leaving immediately."

            The sounds of men loading tucks and dismantling tents filtered into the message even through the trailer walls, confirming Katherine's declaration. 

            "The manager's told me that if you give the space port manager your name when you get to L2 he'll make sure you're admitted inside immediately. It seems you've got quite the audience on L2. They'd be disappointed if you didn't come."

            At this moment, the door to the trailer opened and a voice interrupted Kathy. It was too low for Trowa to make out any of the words. In fact, it was too low for him to decide if it belonged to a man or woman. His sister turned toward the voice and grinned. Immediately, he wondered who it was and what had been said to coax delight onto her face.

            "Yeah," she was saying to the newcomer, "I promise I'll jump ship before they pack me onto the carrier with this thing." She glanced back at the monitor and then at the door which was starting to close. "Hey, wait a minute, Yokaze. Come and say 'hello' to Trowa." 

            Yokaze said, "I don't go near electronic equipment, Kathy. You saw what happened yesterday..."

            Kathy laughed. "But you fixed it again. The cattle prod is as good as new now."

            An indistinct grunt reached the microphone before the door closed. Firmly.

            Katherine turned her attention back to the recorder. "She's new. Got hired just a few days ago." A thoughtful frown pulled at Kathy's smooth brow. "She's so like you. So quiet, Trowa. The two of you will probably get along famously." She smiled. "See you on L2."

            The message terminated.

            The door to Trowa's room slammed shut.

            The laptop glowed in the vacant bedroom.

. ****

**            Feeling more than** a little bit unsteady, Taki wandered through the Darlian estate. The story she'd just read on the disk was fresh in her mind. It was incredible, really. It couldn't be true. There was no way that Taki's true identity could be so... extreme. That was the stuff of fairy tales, not post-wars. What in the hell was Heero thinking, concocting a story like that. If it was supposed to be a practical joke, it was _not_ funny.

            Taki's hands fisted. _Heero, I've got three words for you: Payback's a BITCH!_

            Unfortunately, Taki was more than a little sure that Heero would never toy with her like this. The data had to be accurate; Heero never joked around with people's pasts. But, if the tale was true, then that meant... that meant that Heero was saying good-bye in her most eloquent way. Heero was the sort of person who paid her debts, and she was also the type to see friendship as a favor to be repaid.

_            She's given me my past. What a sucky way to tell me good-bye. How dare she just dump me like this, the bitch. She is going to be so sorry when I find her. And I will find her. She can't hide forever. And even if she can, well, I'll just live forever plus one. That'll piss her off. I can just picture her face—!_

            Taki started when she smacked squarely into Wufei, who had, ironically, chosen that exact moment to exit the library. She stumbled back a step and glared at her obstacle. When she recognized him, her apology died on her lips. "Oh. It's you. Cured your hemorrhoids yet?"

            He glowered at her and bent to pick up the object he dropped. Taki watched him, her eyes growing wide when she recognized the drawing tool in his hand. 

            "Hey! That's mine! Give it to me!" She snatched it out of his hands before he could react. "What do you think you were doing?"

            "Returning it—"

            "You didn't ask to borrow this. For your information this is my _favorite_ pencil."

            "—to you. You left it—"

            "This thing is my _soul mate_. I go where it goes. Don't touch it again unless you want to lose an arm."

            "—in the library." 

            "And I may not look like a vicious killer, but let me tell you a thing or two."

            "Calm—"

            "I've learned more from Heero than you'd think. The stuff I know would keep you awake at night!"

            "—down—"

            "How would you like to wake up to a smelly gym sock hanging over your nose, huh?"

            "—it's _just _a pencil."

            "_Just a pencil!_ Oh, I _know_ I didn't hear you say that. This is oxygen!" She emphasized her point by waving the tool in front of Wufei's scowl. If she had been in full possession of her faculties, Taki would have been frankly surprised that the metal didn't melt—or at least bend—under the weight of his formidable expression.

            Before Taki could launch into another tirade and before Wufei could incinerate the pencil with the irritation that practically steamed off of him, Trowa stepped between them, handing them each their coats and a space ticket. Startled, the arguing pair turned their full attentions on Trowa.

            Having successfully distracted them, he said, "She's on L2. Let's go."

            Taki blinked, comprehending an instant after Wufei started stuffing himself in his coat. With an angry motion, she dropped her backpack and shoved her arms into the sleeves of her black leather jacket. Muttering to herself all the while, "She's in so much trouble she better hope I never find her. God help her if I ever get my hands on her. The ungrateful slut. Pulling this on me now. How dare she just drop this bomb and LEAVE?!" She heaved the backpack onto her shoulders with jerky motions, heading for the door, which was held open by Quatre. 

            Duo—barefoot, clutching his boots, and in the middle of braiding his hair—was darting down the stairs yelling, "Hey, Heero! Have you got an extra pair of socks I can borrow? It's damn cold. Hey. Why am I asking _you_? All you ever pack is your godforsaken laptop."

            From the bottom of the veranda steps, Heero ground out in his calm yet menacing way, "This 'godforsaken laptop' has saved your ass on more than one occasion."

            Duo paused at the door and looked sheepish. "Why, Heero. I didn't know you cared."

            "Get in the car."

            "I just _love it_ when you get all authoritative and homicidal-looking."

            Quatre blinked. "Duo. You just used 'authoritative' in a sentence."

            "That I did."

            By way of explanation, Heero informed the Sandrock pilot, "He had six cups of Mocha Java Espresso this morning."

            "Oh." Quatre didn't seem extremely relieved by that piece of information.

            Taki, oblivious to all of this, marched out the door and down the steps. Relena was wishing everyone a safe and pleasant journey and to come back any time to visit. She apologized for being so busy and unable to be a proper hostess. Quatre, of course, was the one to assure her that everything had been just perfect. It was Duo who, in the midst of stuffing his feet into a pair of socks that he'd probably talked off of the limo driver, suggested more chocolate ice cream would be a nice revision upon their next visit. Trowa rather forcefully urged him into the car.

            Wufei was almost to the threshold when something made him glance back over his shoulder. Where he and Taki had... _confronted_ there was a flat, matte object resting lifelessly on the tiles. Curious, he crossed the few feet and retrieved the object. A disk. With the name _Taki Daemon_ labeled on it. The handwriting looked like... His eyes narrowed.

            "Hey, Wufei? You coming?"

            "Thanks, Quatre. I'll ride my bike."

            "Sure. See you at the spaceport."

            The door closed. 

            Wufei tucked the disk into his pocket. Now to find his keys.

            He patted his pockets.

            The sound of a bike roaring out of the gravel drive assailed his ears. A muscle along his clenched jaw ticked reflexively.

            If he wanted a ride to the port, he was going to have to catch the others before the limo left. He made a dash for the door.

**.**

**           Relena stood on** the veranda until the limo disappeared from her sight. She thought of Heero. She wished him well, she really did. It had become obvious to her that she could not fight his demons for him. That he would probably never be truly free of them. That he may never wish to be free. 

            That grieved her, but she accepted it, for that was Heero's way.

            "Find happiness," she wished for him. She only hoped that it wasn't too late; that he would not feel pain if happiness found him.

. ****

**            Taki gnashed her** teeth together with anticipation. Soon, if luck was on her side, she'd be giving her _friend_ a dose of her own medicine in the next 48 hours. 

            She ignored the other passengers around her, even Quatre who had been given the ticket for the seat beside hers. It was an unfortunate bit of bad luck for him, especially since his seatmate kept mumbling various statements under her breath, mentioning various instruments of mediaeval torture on a periodic basis.

            Two rows behind the disgruntled artist/retired wealth-redistributor, a pair of black eyes were trained on the personal console set into the back of Heero's seat. The glow coming from the seat in front of Wufei indicated that not only he but also Heero was taking advantage of the service provided by all space flights. 

            Occasionally, Duo's voice broke the clicking of keys and soft beeps of error messages and screen changes. First there was: "You just can't leave it alone, can you?" Then: "Didn't anyone ever tell you that staring at anything for long periods of time causes your eyeballs to dry up and fall out?" Also: "Would ya look at that view... Heero! You're missing L1!" Finally: "I'm going to sleep. I hope my snoring makes you wish you'd actually stopped typing for five minutes and talked to me."

            Trowa was sleeping. At least his eyes were closed, Wufei noted. Knowing that Taki would soon miss the disk and that it was related to the mysterious female 'twin,' he uploaded the information onto the personal console and saved it to one of his own disks. That accomplished, he took the liberty to read as much as he could before they landed on L2 and chaos returned.

            What he read was the last thing he had expected to find on that disk. He had hoped for a message from 'Heero' indicating where she was or when she would be in contact next. Instead he found himself looking at a personnel file on Taki Daemon, who was also referred to as Zhih Luei, the last heir to the Dragon Clan. Wufei blinked. That was impossible. Zhih Luei had been missing since she was a young child. Missing and presumed dead. He knew. He remembered. He had, originally, been betrothed to her.

            Scowl set on his young face, he suspended all judgment—and had to call upon years of discipline to do so—as he read the document. Knowing that the true heir had been marked by a tattoo of the legendary two-headed dragon on the back of her neck, Wufei believed nothing of what he read and wondered what 'Heero' was trying to accomplish.

**.**

**~End of Chapter 7~**


	10. Chapter 8: Sojourn at the Circus

**The Perfect Soldier**

**Chapter 8: Sojourn at the Circus**

.****

**            The heartbeat of L2** was well below the city streets. Deep in the center of the technical wonder that was both home and prison for thousands of people, another world had blossomed to life. But for many, this was no haven. Hundreds of men, women, and children flocked to this cavern of depravity every night, driven by the seductive siren-promise of sex and drugs. It was called The Heartbeat. But it was a shadow, slithering over the city, enveloping the weak, making the masses shiver with its coldness, its cruelty, and its mystery.

            It was just after midnight and the growing crowd throbbed in unison with the heavy, seductive beat of the music. It was music to fuck to. And many couples had already taken up the music on its suggestion. In the blackest shadows along the concrete walls, hips were thrusting toward each other, groans escaping throats only to be consumed whole by the music. In other dark corners, syringes, pills, and pipes were used with abandon. Darkly clad figures slithered in and out of the shadows, making it almost impossible for a single, sober hunter to locate her quarry.

            The music continued, relentless and thick in the body-heat-humid air. Carefully but efficiently, a single, equally black-clad figure prowled through the crowds and crowded shadows, slapping away the occasional hand that reached out to grope and entangle the hunter. But even those mild irritants did not cause the newcomer to pause. The sweeping gaze searched every face, every body. 

            It was a good hour after the hunter's search had begun when she saw a flash of black vinyl and glitter-streaked brown hair out of the corner of her eye. Instantly, her gaze snapped toward it. The target. She moved fluidly through the crowd, the utilitarian grace of her body transformed into something more erotic by the black leather that alternately revealed and concealed smooth flesh. The target filled her vision. The hunter followed, waiting for the chance to close in.

            And then the crowd shifted with the fade-in of a new song, a harder song. A song to rape to. And the target was swallowed again. 

            The hunter clenched her teeth together to keep from swearing. Her skin was slick with perspiration and her eyes itched from the smoke. But the training refused to let her rush this operation. Methodically, she continued moving through the crowd. She reached the edge of the throng and was confronted by the deep shadows that lined the walls of the underground rave. The target had been headed in this direction. The hunter did not pause. She plunged into the shadows, ignoring the sweating, swearing couples to either side of her, and focused on the stairwell set into the cement. 

            The music followed her as she ascended, but slowly, other sounds could be heard from above. The sounds of human pain. The sounds of fists striking flesh. The hunter's steps came faster as she rushed to the surface. Where the staircase opened into a stoop, the hunter hesitated long enough to scan the dimly lit, refuse-littered alley. The only movement was of a man who had pinned a smaller figure to the urine-stained bricks. He raised his hand to slap her again but he never executed his attack. He crumpled to the grimy street, a simple, four inch blade in his throat.

            The small figure huddled against the wall for a moment before loosing both balance and consciousness. With a small whimper, the battered child fell toward the stones. Strong arms reached out and plucked the tiny body from its fall. In the faded, acidic lamplight, the hunter examined her target. The glittered hair was streaked with blood. The black vinyl torn and twisted. 

            Without a single word, the hunter adjusted the youth in her arms and left the knife for the colony officials to find with the body.

**.**

**            The circus was **dark and quiet when Trowa lead the others through the gate. Although it was nearly dawn, he did not doubt that Kathy would greet them. 

            Kathy, his sister. 

            He realized now that the report Yokaze had left for him had been a mere formality. Long ago, he had accepted the fact that this young woman was his sister, his family, his home. In fact, he would have been surprised to learn that she wasn't. Now he wondered how he was going to tell her; she deserved to know. And, Trowa—Triton—admitted this with reluctance: he wanted to share it with her, to be a whole—a real—family with her. It was odd that he hungered so strongly for this when he'd never permitted himself to consider it before. 

            "Trowa!" The soft cry made the young acrobat turn quickly. He froze as Kathy rushed into his arms. She'd been lonely, he suddenly realized. A wave of remorse and guilt crested inside of him. "I missed you," she murmured, her voice muffled by his shirt. His green eyes examined the softness of her hair, the youth and strength in the curve of her face. Deep inside of him, something shifted in his chest and caused his heart to constrict.

            "I missed you, too... Kathy." _Sister._ The hesitation was barely detectable in his low voice. He wanted to tell her, but he wasn't sure how, and this certainly wasn't the time. Not with the others here.

            Kathy smiled and stepped back, turning her shining eyes onto Trowa. "It's good to see you. How was your vacation?"

            Trowa hesitated for a moment. Technically speaking, it was still going, but it wasn't turning out to be a vacation in the true sense of the word, either. Maybe it qualified as a manhunt. This also was something to save for later. He said, "Fine."

            Kathy was undaunted by the mediocre reply and it showed in her knowing smile. "Later you can tell me all about it." She turned her attention to everyone. She recognized a few faces. There was Duo and Quatre. She knew them the best. And also Wufei, she remembered the short time he'd spent here nearly a year and a half ago. And, of course, there was Heero. But he seemed... different now. There was a light in his dark eyes that she hadn't seen before. She greeted all of them and finally her gaze landed on the one face she didn't remember. She introduced herself.

            The young woman, her dark hair and dark eyes making her look mysterious, said the only words that could amplify that, "Everyone calls me Taki. I'm a friend of Yokaze's."

            The curiosity in Katherine's eyes was as plain as day. She tilted her head to one side, "Oh, of course, she mentioned that you might be coming by. But I'm afraid you've missed her. Today's her day off."

            Hope blossomed suddenly side by side with irritation inside of Taki. If Heero had mentioned her, then perhaps she'd also left something behind for her as well. She cleared her throat. "I don't suppose He—Yokaze left anything for me, did she?"

            Katherine shook her head. "No, she didn't leave anything for you, Taki." Katherine invited all of them into the main mess hall (which was also a tent) for a cup of coffee. Travel worn, they followed her. Taki's mind racing with the unexpected development. Usually, Heero left something for her, even if she didn't want to be found. She couldn't believe that the pattern had suddenly stopped now. 

            She was half listening to Quatre telling Kathy about the living arrangements he'd made for everyone. It was nearby, he said. A place downtown he'd managed to sub-let. Duo asked if there was a spa room and then blushed along with Quatre at the memory of their most recent experience in a spa.

            Again, Taki was intrigued. The second thing she did when she found Heero was to ask her how the hell she'd pulled that one off.

            And then it hit her. She wasn't sure what had caused the discovery, but suddenly, she knew the name that was scrawled across the note Heero had left behind. The stealth and twisted humor Heero possessed asserted itself now. Of course there wasn't anything for "Taki." The retired thief's hands fisted. Rage arched through her at the realization. However, in her mind, the steady chant of, "Tell me she didn't do this. Tell me she didn't do this" tumbled over and over.

            "Excuse me, Quatre," she said, coming between him and Kathy. "Did Yokaze leave anything for a Zhih Luei?"

            Everyone looked a Taki. Katherine was the only person who wasn't gazing at her oddly. Taki didn't know that the Zhih family had been legendary. She had no idea that their reputation as guardians of their colony had immortalized them. She was unaware that their sudden deaths just before the war had begun had scandalized the colonies. And she did not know that until their final day, the head of the Zhih family and his wife had offered a record-breaking reward for the safe return of their only child.

            Around her, the gundam pilots held their breath. Katherine said, "I'm sorry, but Yokaze was very specific. I must ask you which clan you're from." The circus employee looked very uncomfortable. That was the only thing that allowed Taki the strength to block out her mounting rage and remain civil to Katherine.

            "The Dragon Clan," she bit out.

            Four pairs of eyes shifted to Wufei. Duo had to bite his tongue to keep from reiterating the obvious; Wufei wasn't the last of the Dragon Clan after all.

            Katherine shifted her weight, fidgeting. Taki knew there was more and she tensed in anticipation. "Again, I'm really sorry about this, but... do you have the mark?"

            Taki frowned. The mark? She was marked? What was Heero up to with this curve ball of a question? This was really left-field, even for Heero. "I don't know," she admitted. A desperation clawed at her. Unless she could answer Katherine's questions, she'd either have to resort to violence to get that note or she'd have to go without it. And Katherine didn't deserve her anger or violence. Yet Taki needed that note. She sighed.

            For a long moment, the silence stretched. Taki was startled when she heard Wufei come up to her. She looked up into his hard, black eyes. Haltingly, he spoke, "Zhih Luei was the heir to the Dragon Clan and L5. She was marked with a small tattoo of a flying black dragon on the back of her neck, near the base of her skull."

            "How do you know that, Wufei? If it were common knowledge, then anyone could have slapped a tattoo on a kid and collected the reward money years ago," Maxwell couldn't resist asking.

            Wufei glowered at him. "No," he agreed, "it isn't common knowledge." Already, he was angry at Yokaze for forcing this issue.  He would have preferred to collect more information before admitting the possibility. But he was absolutely not going to explain how he knew about the tattoo.

            Quatre looked from Wufei to Taki. He said to the other pilot, "But you've seen it before, haven't you, Wufei?"

            Wufei nodded.

            Katherine said after a beat of silence. "Well, there are lights in the mess hall..."

            Taki was getting tired for being gawked at. "Fine," she grumbled. "Let's just get this over with."

            She trudged into the tent, feeling the necessity of attaining the note and the rage at Heero. What was this tattoo supposed to mean? So what if she and Wufei belonged to the same, nearly extinct, clan. Big deal. There was no L5 for her to claim as her inheritance, her parents were dead. Only she and Wufei had survived the explosion because they had not been on L5 at the time. Although she wasn't thrilled at the prospect of being connected to Wufei Chang in any way, Heero was obviously determined to see this through. And if that meant she had to acknowledge her very _remote_ relationship with Wufei to get that damn note, well then so be it. Finding Heero was her top priority.

            Wufei watched her plant herself on a bench. Without preamble or even so much as a grumble, she pulled her hair away from her neck and waited. Chang didn't have to look at the faces of the others to know that he'd been given the honor of checking for the mark. Reluctantly, he stepped up behind her and unclenched his fists.

            His hand shook as he reached for her.

            Once upon a time, he was sure he'd possessed more control, but the claim that this... this... female was really the long dead Dragon Clan heir grated on him, relentlessly wearing away his ability to stay calm. He had never hoped that others might have survived; and he could not afford to start now. He had to know, without a doubt, that it was a lie. Before it was too late.

            And it was, of course, a lie. And having that affirmed would be a mere formality. There would be no tattoo. There couldn't be. At least, that was what he'd convinced himself.

            But he was unaware of the small bud of hope slowing gathering life inside of him. Which was just as well; he would have crushed it instantly if he had realized.

            Taki shivered as the calloused tips of his fingers brushed against her nape. Her teeth ground together. Why had she agreed to this? Oh yes. So she could find Heero. So she could kill Heero. Kill Heero. Slowly kill Heero. Very slowly.

            Despite his gruff manner and perpetual disapproving scowl, Wufei was surprisingly gentle as his fingertips slowly combed through her hair. His skin was warm—like sunlight. Taki tried to think of something else. Like killing Heero.

            She knew the moment he saw it. He froze for a moment before leaning closer to her. She could feel his breath on the back of her neck. Dammit, she was going to torture Heero for putting her in this situation. Gooseflesh zipped up her arms as his breath tickled the backs of her ears.

            Wufei was astonished. It was the mark. But it couldn't be. This ex-thief (although she seemed inclined to steal plenty of things from Wufei: his bike, his sleep, his peace of mind) could not be his long lost betrothed. Impossible. And yet here it was. The tiny tattoo, barely an inch in diameter, a black dragon circling in its flight, its two pairs of red eyes glaring with power. His breath rushed out of him as he stared. No. No, no, no, no. This could not be so. He was the only survivor. He was his only liability. What would he do with her? And then he inhaled, drawing her scent into his lungs. And a rather brazen suggestion crossed his mind.

            He drew back suddenly, as if she had somehow burned him.

            "Well? Is she Zhih Luei, or what?"

            Wufei directed his glare at the interrupter. Maxwell. Reluctantly, he bit out,      "Yes. The tattoo matches."

            Taki was floored. "I have a tattoo? Does anybody have a mirror? I've got to see this. Wait a minute. How the hell did Heero know I had this tattoo? Yet another thing I have to squeeze out of her before I kill her. Thanks, Kathy," Taki said, interrupting herself as Trowa's sister handed her a hand mirror.

            Katherine stood behind Taki, holding up a second mirror and keeping her hair out of the way so Taki could get a look at her unknown passenger. "Wow," she declared. "That is cool. Now I really am going to do something drastic to her. Not only did Heero know that I had a tattoo, but she never said how awesome it was."

            "Heero? You mean Yokaze?" Katherine asked.

            Taki put down her mirror and looked at Katherine. "Yeah. One and the same. Except I've always known her as Heero Yuy."

            "Heero Yuy?" Kathy echoed, clearly confused. Her gaze darted to the present Heero Yuy and then flew back to Taki.

            Taki sighed. "It's a really long story."

            Wufei needed air. He needed to get out. To think. Unfortunately, he couldn't leave Taki, or Luei. So he compromised and instead of stalking off to a distant rooftop in the colony, he stepped just outside of the tent. Immediately, he felt a measure of calm objectivity settle over him. It was too much of a coincidence, this girl being friends with someone who is, supposedly, Heero's double. The more he thought about it, the more unsettled he felt about accepting this situation at face value.

            The early morning quiet surrounded him. A light breeze tumbled out of the colony jets, stirring something on Wufei's hand. He glanced down and caught the single hair before the wind could pull it free. Gazing at it, he smiled. There was, of course, a simple solution to it all. All he had to do was check Taki's DNA against the DNA listed in Zhih Luei's file with the Missing Persons Agency. Simple.

            Or so he believed.

. ****

**            The note read:**

            "Someday you'll give up. Obviously it won't be today. I'm busy with something. See George and he'll explain. First, settle into the accommodations Quatre's arranged. Further instructions are waiting for you there."

            It was signed simply, "Y." Taki wasn't sure if it stood for Yuy or Yokaze. She supposed it didn't really matter. Overall, the note was a big disappointment. She'd expected something grander after she'd had to go through all that mumbo jumbo just to get her hands on the damn thing. She sighed.

            "What's it say?" Duo was trying to read it over her shoulder. 

            She rolled her eyes and handed it to Heero. He deserved to read it, to know what a complete pain in the ass his sister was. His cobalt eyes flicked over it as Taki adjusted her backpack over her shoulders.

            "Quatre, what's the address of the building you sub-leased?" Heero asked quietly.

            Quatre frowned, curious about the note, but recited it.

            Heero nodded. "Then let's go."

**.**

**~End of Chapter 8~**


	11. Chapter 9: Catching Up

**The Perfect Soldier**

**Chapter 9: Catching Up**

. ****

**            Duo kept a close** eye on Heero. As the six of them approached the address, he could see lines of strain etching deeper on Heero's face. They were still faint, sure. You had to really look to see them, but Duo knew they were there. The look in Heero's eyes revealed his tension and uncertainty as if he'd written a sonnet about it.

            Duo edged closer to Quatre and kept his voice low. "I think we should be there when he sees her for the first time."

            Quatre glanced at Duo in surprise. There was no small amount of concern in the violet eyes. "But I thought we'd agreed to give him some space. Do you really think it's a good idea to impose?"

_            He needs us with him. Just look at his eyes. He's lost._ Duo said, "Well, I'm not suggesting we should break out the party supplies or anything. But, how would you feel if you were about to meet your sister for the first time? Who you never knew existed? _And_ to top things off, she looks _just like you_. That alone is just a little too freaky. A girl that looks just like you." Duo shuddered. "I'm glad I don't have that problem. Yep. There's only one Duo Maxwell."

            Quatre smiled at Duo's confidence but noticed how his gaze never seemed to leave Heero. "You're really worried about him?"

            Duo seemed to wilt a bit. "Yeah," he said, his voice serious and a bit husky, "I think he's hurting."

            "Then I think you're right, Duo. Let's stay with him for a while." Quatre glanced around him and consulted the map Rashid had sent him during the space flight. "We're almost there," he told everyone. "It's just past this intersection. The fourth building on our right."

            Heero and Taki reached the building first. Heero didn't hesitate but pounded on the door, ignoring the fact that it was just after dawn. Taki stood out on the sidewalk, looking pale. As Duo and Quatre drew closer, she glanced at them, her eyes a little glazed. "This can't be it," she mumbled.

            "Why not?" Duo asked. Behind him, he could sense Trowa and Wufei critically examining the building for anything suspicious. 

            Taki said, "Because _she_ owns this building."

            Quatre's head whipped back around to Taki. "What did you say?" 

            At that moment, the front door swung open. As one, the pilots and thief stared at the figure on the threshold. He was a giant of a man, his muscles bulging under his white T-shirt. His bald head and earring gleaming in the early morning glow. He raised his dark, bushy eyebrows and regarded the disturbance.

            Taki's jaw snapped closed. "George?" she called.

            His soft, brown eyes zeroed in on her. "T-taki? Is that y-you?" he stuttered.

            She smiled. "Yeah, it's me. What're you doing here at Heero's?"

            He shrugged. "I owed her a f-favor, y-you know?"

            Taki tucked that away for later. She looked at Quatre. "This is the place, right?"

            He nodded and folded up the map. This certainly was it. 

            Taki approached the step and informed George that these were the new tenants. By now, however, George had seen Heero and was studying him carefully. Taki grinned. "It's hard to believe, isn't it?" she said.

            George nodded. "Ide-dentical." 

            Taki lead the way into the four-story house. "Remind me to tell you about the complete ass I made of myself when I fist met the male Heero, here."

            George chuckled. "I c-can't w-wait."

            She made herself comfortable in the furnished living room of Heero's first floor apartment. Taki knew that when her friend was on L2 this was where she stayed. And the room definitely reflected her style. Reds, greens, golds, and black was the main color scheme. All of the walls and furniture were solid, bold colors; the only patterns in the room were woven blankets from Native American artists. Heero had expensive, expressive taste.

            Taki watched as the gundam pilots shuffled into the room. She watched Heero take it all it with a sweep of his eyes, storing the information away to be analyzed at a later date. Trowa's gaze lingered on the things that revealed Heero's personal taste the most efficiently. The blankets, the small but quality assortment of ancient swords in their display stands. Quatre repeated Trowa's technique. Duo looked at everything, even the ceiling, which pleased Taki; she'd painted it for Heero. It was a scene from the African Savannah. Lions and giraffes and gazelle. Stuff like that. It wasn't the Sistine Chapel or anything, but Taki was proud of it. Wufei swept the room as Heero had and upon glancing at the ceiling, he sniffed contemptuously, forcing Taki to grab the armrests of her chair or be tempted to spend valuable energy beating him instead of her bestest buddy.

            "So, George," she said, distracting herself from the sudden desire to kill Wufei. "What favor are you performing for Heero?"

            "H-house sitting," he lied.

            George was a terrible liar. Taki smiled, she'd come back to this later. For now, she'd play along. "Well, the place is in good hands, then."

            "Th-thanks, T-taki."

            "So... Have you seen Heero lately?"

            George blinked. "S-sure. Sh-she was by earlier."

            "Oh yeah? What's she up to? She left me a note. Something about a project and you'd be good enough to explain."

            The pale, hairless bear-man looked a little uncomfortable. "Sh-she s-said that did sh-she?"

            "Uh-huh."

            "W-well, this project sh-she's got is r-really hard."

            "How so?" Taki was silently congratulating herself on repressing her bloodlust.

            "It involves a k-kid."

            "A kid? That definitely isn't Heero's style."

            George tilted his head to one side in contradiction to Taki's words. "Actually, sh-she helps a lot of k-kids. _This_ k-kid is different, though."

_            Heero has been helping kids? Why does she never tell me these things? Am I really the last to know?_ _And why is George stalling? _Her knuckles turned white as her fingers gripped the armrests tighter. "George, I know you're not house sitting. What're you really doing here?"

            When George hesitated, it hit her. Slowly, she rose from her chair. "She's here, right now, isn't she?"

            Before George could look guilty, a door opened behind Taki and Heero made her entrance.

            And what an entrance.

            Taki had only ever seen Heero decked out like this twice. Both occasions had been when Heero had lost a bet with Taki and as payment Taki had dragged her to a rave. Heero's black leather boots made barely a whisper of noise on the carpet. Her pants, which were more like chaps the way they laced up the sides, revealing skin all the way up to her hips, slapped gently against the boots. Her black leather halter top laced up the front, but the edges didn't come together and the high collar was turned up at the back of her neck. Her hair was spiky and emphasized the size of her eyes and mouth. Taki stared in amazement at the mascara, eyeliner, and silver-gold glitter that framed the blue eyes. The silver-gold lipstick and, when she moved her head, the glitter in her hair, were a shock. But it was the silver-studded dog collar that shook Taki from her state. She'd been looking for that thing for months.

            The first person who broke the silence was, surprisingly, George. "How is she?" he asked, concern in his voice as Heero closed the door behind her.

            "She'll recover," she replied.

_            Well,_ Taki thought_, at least her voice is the same._

            Heero surveyed the gathering in the room, expressionless. Finally, she said, "You're late." And then she strode into the bathroom to wash the blood and sweat off of her body.

**.**

**            Heero wondered at** his strong reaction to seeing his double. He had been amazed, at first, that she really did look just like him. With her arms bare, he could see her smoother, although not necessarily weaker, muscle tone. The tight leather pants had revealed the slight curve of her hips, and her top had emphasized a minimal bust. It was easy for Heero to imagine her in a pair of comfortable jeans and a loose shirt. No one would be able to tell them apart. But after this initial discovery had worn off, a second—more disturbing—realization asserted itself. It was one thing for him to look at her, but he discovered it was quite another for the others to do the same.

            What was the matter with him? He'd wanted to strangle Trowa for the frank appreciation Heero had read in his eyes. And he still felt like slapping Quatre who was currently still staring into space even though Yokaze had left the room a good ten minutes ago. In fact, he could still hear Taki's voice; she'd followed Heero into the bathroom to have a talk with her. The talk was still one-sided with Taki all but yelling at her.

            Heero tried to hide his concern for Yokaze. He'd seen the blood on her arm. It had dried to a dark rust color and he couldn't shake the feeling that she was injured.

            What _was wrong_ with him? This woman wasn't his sister. Could not be his sister. But he was behaving like an over-protective brother. What the _hell_ was wrong with him?

            The opening of the bathroom door jarred his thoughts and his double appeared in a fuzzy robe, toweling her hair dry. Taki was right on her heels, demanding to know if Heero was finished. Had she had her fun yet?

            Yokaze said nothing and disappeared into her bedroom. Again, Taki followed her. Again, the sound of Taki's voice could be heard over the noise of a blow dryer. George passed around coffee and started breakfast in the kitchen. Quatre made a half-hearted attempt to help the large fellow, but was sent back out into the living room to rest. And so Heero sat in silence with the others, anticipating, dreading, disbelieving.

            And when he felt his calm begin to slip from him like a towel fluttering to the floor, he opened up his mind to the dream and let it hold him close until this storm had passed.

.****

**            Duo was in shock. ** That was the only way to put it. He could have chalked it up to finally seeing Heero's double and realizing that they really were identical. Although her body had been a little more softer-looking than Heero's and she'd had a little more curve to her, they were mirror reflections of each other. 

            But no, that wasn't what bothered Duo. If he were honest with himself, he would have admitted that it was the image of Heero standing there in black leather and laces. The glitter, the dog collar. Dear God... All too easily his mind insisted that the body inside of that outfit wasn't female.

            He shoved his face into his hands. What was wrong with him? Heero was his friend, albeit far too serious for his own good, but where had this dark fantasy come from? And why wasn't Duo able to laugh at it? Instead, his heart was beating faster and his palms sweating. He'd handled space battles, near death experiences, and capture with more ease than he was dealing with this vision in his head. When had his desire to see Heero simply smile with him, laugh with him, changed into wanting to see another more erotic side of him?

            What in the _hell_ was wrong with him?

            A motion to his left drew his gaze and immediately the fantasy was swept away. Once faced with the reality, it simply dissolved. Heero had gotten up from the couch and was walking over to the window. Duo recognized the tension in his body; it was the same way he'd been standing back on Earth, contemplating the damn driveway. Duo could easily see that Heero was hurting, lost, afraid, uncertain. But what could he do? Duo hung his head for a moment, fortifying himself against the inevitable rebuff. But he had to try. No one else would. And Heero so badly needed to be comforted. Everyone one did. But Heero was so alone. And it hurt Duo to see him like that.

            Duo rose and moved to stand beside him. "So," he said, after a minute, "I guess now would be a bad time to apologize for taking a bath with Yokaze, huh?"

            As if Duo's voice had somehow managed to take away some of his tension, Heero's head dipped an inch and his shoulder muscles relaxed a fraction. Duo observed all of this, hope opening up inside of him. Could it really be this easy? he wondered. After all this time of trying to make him smile, could it happen now?

            He forged on. "I don't know what I was thinking when I asked Quatre if this place had a spa. I guess I wasn't. But hey, I've got a reputation to maintain. Can't be brainy all the time, you know; that's your job." It was late, or rather, early, and none of them had gotten any sleep. Duo was exhausted and trying to cheer someone up. As a result, his humor fell flat and rang closer to truth than to jest.

            He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to gather the strength he needed to joke, to jest, to make a fool of himself in the hopes that Heero might not be so alone. His eyes snapped open when he felt the weight of a hand on his shoulder. He looked up into tired cobalt eyes. He could see how very thin that wall was at this moment, and an emotion Duo had never seen before in Heero eked out. "Thank you, Duo."

            Duo opened his mouth to ask "For what?" but he already knew. Thank you for trying, for being there. Maybe he was reading too much into it, but he smiled anyway. He replied instead, "Somebody's gotta do it."

            There was a curious shifting on the other side of those blue eyes. But before the emotion could be completed, the bedroom door opened and Yokaze emerged in a pair of faded jeans and a charcoal gray T-shirt. Duo was glad that the T-shirt was different color than the one Heero was wearing, otherwise he knew he'd be making an embarrassing mistake as the day wore on and he got even more tired.

            Taki was quiet, either she had exhausted herself or Yokaze had managed to diffuse the situation. The Dragon Clan heir sat down on the arm of a chair to see what would happen next.

            Yokaze took in the sight of the exhausted pilots and said, "I apologize for the wait. But, before any of us get any sleep, there are a few things that need to be said." George appeared in the living room and Yokaze suggested they have breakfast while they discuss the necessities. It was news Duo's stomach was glad to hear. Although he tried to ignore the fact that Heero's hand had quickly slipped from his shoulder, he told himself that he was making progress. Maybe someday in the not-too-distant future, he'd get a smile out of him.

. ****

**            George had gone** to culinary school; so breakfast was good, to put it mildly. Unfortunately, the tastes and textures of perfect omelets, strawberry muffins, and poached salmon were not fully appreciated. Both the exhaustion and the gravity of the discussion to be had made a dent in their ability to enjoy the meal.

            "It's delicious, George," Yokaze said unnecessarily. "You've outdone yourself again."

            George graciously accepted the complement and the silence was only broken by the sound of silverware scraping against porcelain.

            Finally, Yokaze asked, "Where shall I start?" It was a question for Heero.

            He replied quietly, "With your name."

            She nodded and sat back in her chair. "I don't remember, honestly. The first name I ever knew was 'Zero-one.'"

            Heero almost dropped his fork when the memory hit him.

_            "You must expect a few failures. After all, Heero Yuy is still relatively untrained, and the only simulation data we have is from Zero-one. It'll take time before he can defeat that."_

            He gripped the fork a little tighter and shook off the memory by asking another question. "Who trained you?"

            The look on her face was mellow, but George and Taki could tell Heero had surprised her. "You don't remember," she observed. There was a beat of silence before she moved on. "I was trained by Dr. J... among others."

            Again, a memory arced through him like electricity.

_            "Why is this one so slow? Zero-one took to these programs much faster."_

_            "Yes, well, we must remember that Zero-one was a little younger when we initiated the training program. And then every time she was retrained, the new skills were adopted quicker._"

_            "I still don't understand why we can't use Zero-one."_

_            "Don't be stupid. Zero-one was meant to test the effectiveness of the training program. Zero-one is a lose cannon; we cannot trust the child to carry out a mission reliably. There is no way to predict the outcome since she's been trained to adapt to almost every combat style you created. There would be chaos."_

            This time Heero put down his fork. "I remember," he told her. "Dr. J spoke of you." Again the silence. "What happened?"

            Somehow she knew he was asking about her absence at the base. "I left. Dr. J had trained me too well. When I decided to leave, I did."

            "What was your role during the war?"

            She almost smiled. "I was Heero Yuy," she told him. "Your shadow."

            His eyes narrowed. "Why?"

            A look of sorrow flickered over her face before she could almost smile again. "I wanted you to succeed. I could do nothing to stop the war from starting, but I knew you would be the one to finish it."

            "Why me?"

            This time she really did smile. "I didn't have a gundam."

            "So what _did_ you do?" Duo couldn't resist demanding.

            She looked Heero in the eye and told him, "I was an officer... for OZ." 

            The silence was complete. She could feel the gazes of everyone. She continued, "Although I've never flown a mobile suit, I can design one, build one, fix one, destroy one. OZ had a use for me, just as I had a use for OZ. It was easy to design flaws into the mobile suits they manufactured. It was easy to miscalibrate those that came in for repair and blame the malfunctions on the seriousness of the initial damage. In time, I was able to gain access to OZ's database. I could erase transmissions the computer automatically recorded before they were discovered. I could transfer myself to another base before an attack. No one looked at the lowly mechanic and saw a threat. People tend to look up to find corruption."

            Taki poked at her eggs. She hated to admit it, but she was learning a lot about Heero. And she was beginning to understand the thankless risks she had taken over the years so that her brother (or whoever) would be alive today. Although she didn't state it explicitly, everyone knew that the transmissions she had erased were from the gundam pilots. Everyone knew that the bases she had fled were ones that she had doomed by leaking information and preventing OZ's discovery of the attack. In all of their years together as friends, Taki had never suspected any of this. She supposed it was a tribute to Heero's training.

            "And now?" Heero was trying to assess how much damage Yokaze would cause to the tentative peace.

            "Now I uncover pasts," her gaze slid from Taki to Wufei and finally to Trowa as she spoke, "and return them to their rightful owners."

            "A dangerous line of work," Heero observed.

            "Maybe so, but it's also necessary."

            Duo was making eyes at Wufei's untouched muffin. With a sigh, the young man simply handed the item to an astonished Duo. A slight smile touched Yokaze's mouth at that; she recalled the toast incident at Relena's clearly. 

            Finally, Heero asked the one question that had been foremost in everyone's mind. "Are you my sister?"

            Yokaze didn't look at him; she heard the wariness, the censure in his voice. "I must apologize, Heero. I should have been able to find more answers for you before you ever believed I existed." She looked up. "The truth is that I don't know. But, honestly, I don't think we are siblings. It would be too much of a coincidence. And I know that the face and the body I wear aren't the ones I was supposed to have. I can remember at least eight surgeries, but I know there were more."

            She could see the questions in their eyes, so she continued. "Heero Yuy was to be the perfect soldier. Two children with the same face, the same name, the same identity, the same training could be in two places at once. Perfect harmony. Just think of the war we could have caused." She took a deep breath. "Dr. J fought it, but the others would have none of it. It was brilliant. And, apparently, they didn't want to waste my skills. And our physical appearance, aside from the sex differences, was very close. 

            "I didn't find out until all but a few of the surgeries were completed what they were going to use us for. I couldn't let them turn operation meteor into a bloodbath. I left." A tiny, speculative smile creased her lips. "I think Dr. J was proud of me for that."

            Heero looked down at his plate before turning his gaze back to her. At last he said, "I know he was."

            The two Heeros looked at each other. There were more questions. But for now, this was enough.

**.**

**~End of Chapter 9~**


	12. Chapter 10: Coversation and Coffee

**The Perfect Soldier**

**Chapter 10: Conversation and Coffee**

**.**

**            A single violet **eye examined the woman who was methodically inspecting a bandaged wrist. The cobalt gaze was eerie in its intensity, as if it could see through gauze and skin to the muscles beneath.

            "Does it still hurt?" the woman asked after a long, unbroken silence.

            The violet eye narrowed. "Like hell."

           The wrist was replaced on the bed and the woman reached for the bandage around the prone girl's head. Eventually, the owner of the violet eye grew too curious to stop her tongue.

            "Who are you? What do you want?"

            "I'm called Yokaze. I want nothing _from_ you," she said. Her blue eyes slid away from the nasty gash near the second violet eye. It was healing nicely. Only when their gazes were locked, Yokaze said, "I do want, however, many things _for _you."

            Even though it hurt, the girl narrowed both of her eyes in suspicion. "What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

           "It means that in a few short weeks, you will walk out of here with more than you had when you were carried in. So, until that time comes, what shall I call you?"

            "Jesus Christ, _anything_ but 'Violet.' I can't stand that name."

            "Well, I don't have much of an imagination." It was a warning. The young girl heard it plainly. She was about to be christened Gertrude or Drucilla or some other horrifying name.

            "A... friend used to call me 'Bisho.'"

            Yokaze nodded. "Very well then, Bisho. You have a couple of bruised ribs, a sprained wrist, and a two inch cut near your left eye. Other points of interest are bruises, scrapes, and welts."

            "Sounds bad."

            "Looks bad."

            "Oh yeah?"

            "Very scary."

            Bisho smiled. There was something about this woman's flat-line monotone that made her grin. She doubted that this woman had ever been scared by anything. Which reminded her...

            "Um, I don't remember much of what happened last night."

            "Yes, well, you were unconscious for most of it. I'd be impressed as hell if you remembered all of it." Still, the monotone.

            "You're making fun of me."

            "Ask what you really want to know."

            Bisho sighed. She didn't know this woman, but she had to know what had happened to that bastard who'd tried to force himself on her in the alley behind the rave. "Is he still alive?"

            "No." 

            The finality in the word sent shivers along Bisho's skin. But she leaned back into the pillows and smiled. "I'm glad."

            Yokaze washed, dried, and re-bandaged the cut on Bisho's face in silence. When she was finished, she leaned back and informed her, "I have house guests. They don't know about you. Let's keep it that way. Can I bring you anything to do?"

            Bisho stared at Yokaze. She didn't know this woman, but she saw... something in her eyes that she had seen in Cera's. Cera... Bisho tried to remember her healthy, whole, and alive. She tried to remember the young woman who had sheltered her from the streets until the whoring had taken its toll and Cera had succumbed to one of the hundreds of occupational hazards. God, she missed her.

            She didn't know what she was going to do when her welcome was worn out here. Didn't have anyplace to go. Anyone who cared about her. She was tired just thinking about it.

            "I just want to sleep," she mumbled.

            Yokaze nodded and collected the breakfast tray. "Then I'll be back later." The door opened and closed.

            Bisho knew that she should try to run away. That she couldn't trust this unexpected sympathy from a stranger. But she hurt everywhere. And she was so tired. And lost. Cera had always held her at times like these, but she was gone now.

            The young girl of no more than thirteen years squeezed her eyes shut against the tears and prayed for sleep.

. ****

**            Heero lay in the dark,** still, silent, but completely awake. As much as his body craved sleep—demanded it—he could not let his mind rest. Still, he couldn't believe that Yokaze—his double—was real, that he'd finally seen her with his own eyes.

            The words he had spoken to Relena echoed relentlessly back at him.

_            "... if this other girl really is your sister—"_

_            "She isn't."_

_            "How do you know?"_

_            "It's too much of a coincidence."_

            Too much of a coincidence. They were exactly the same words that Yokaze had used.

            Heero should have been relieved. She did not believe that they were siblings. He was safe. His world was safe. _She_ was safe. As long as Heero was allowed to go on his way alone, all would be well.

            So, why had his chest tightened curiously at her words? He was insane if he actually felt disappointment at her diagnosis. A sister would only be trouble, dangerous trouble. His world would no longer be his own. Others would no longer be safe. And he would not be able to deny his connection to the rest of humanity.He would not be able to be Heero Yuy, the perfect soldier, any longer.

            His mind balked at the thought. Not be a soldier? That was all he was. All he'd ever known. All he could be. The training had been too complete. He couldn't participate in mundane human life, not like the others. He thought of Trowa, who had Kathy, a job, a home. He thought of Quatre, who had a family, a fortune, obligations. He had never envied them. And yet...

            Disgusted with himself, Yuy threw back the covers and left sleep behind. He knew he wouldn't rest until he'd completely analyzed the situation. But, in order to do that, he needed a cup of coffee. He didn't bother with socks or a shirt, simply padded into the kitchen he shared with the other pilots. With mechanical motions, he set the coffee maker to perk and opened the kitchen curtain, allowing the late morning light to trickle into the room.

            He gripped the edge of the metal sink and stared at the busy street below. He had never wanted a family. He had always viewed the remote possibility as he would have viewed a field of enemy mobile suits between him and his target.

            So why, now that he'd seen how impossible, how unlikely, it really was, had he expected her to claim him as family?

            Heero let out a long, frustrated breath and hung his head, his shoulders tense.

            He told himself that he was being an idiot.

            He told himself that everyone was better off this way.

            He told himself that he wouldn't know what to do with a sister if he had one.

            But he didn't believe a word of it.

            The truth was Heero Yuy was tired. And alone. And starving for the basic, mundane things in life, for the simple, sincere touch of another human being. His enemy.

            God. What kind of soldier was he?

            Was he breaking?

            He couldn't. It wasn't possible. Heero Yuy _was_ and _would always be_ the perfect soldier.

            "Heero?"

            Startled by the undetected interruption, Heero turned suddenly, his gaze landing on the sleep-rumpled form of Quatre. His blonde hair flew in every direction; his blue eyes were half-closed with exhaustion; his pajama bottoms skewed slightly to one side.

            "Go back to sleep," Heero told him quietly.

            Quatre shook his head. "Can't. I keep thinking about Yokaze." The young man slid into a chair and yawned.

            Heero hated the way every single one of his muscles tensed when he heard Quatre's admission. Once again, he saw her in black leather and laces, the erotic antithesis of his own harsh, utilitarian appearance. His voice was gruff when he demanded, "How so?"

            The young man in the blue pajama bottoms was too tired to hear the aggression in Heero's voice. He yawned again. "I was sure she was your sister. I can't believe that she didn't know. I'd expected her to know that before anything else."

            Heero relaxed a bit and reached for the coffee pot. He filled two cups and handed one to Quatre, who opened his mouth to thank him, but yawned instead. Heero waved the intended thanks away and took a seat across from Quatre.

            They sipped the dark, strong coffee in silence. Heero had begun to replay the breakfast conversation in his mind when the other young man spoke again.

            "The tattoo... Back at the circus. That wasn't for Taki. It was for Wufei, wasn't it?"

            Heero nodded. He'd made the same deduction. It seemed that Trowa wasn't the only one receiving a visit from his past.

            "I wonder what it means."

            Heero was sure they'd find out sooner or later.

            For a few heartbeats, they slipped back into their own private thoughts. And then: "So, are you just going to leave everything as it is?"

            Heero narrowed his eyes and studied his coffee. The sibling situation. He didn't answer right away because that was the very question that had kept him awake. He was still debating it.

            Quatre placed his mug on the table and offered, "I think one of my sisters works for a fertility clinic on this colony. She could do a DNA analysis of you and Yokaze."

            Heero frowned, his gaze not leaving the murky liquid in white ceramic. He was struck by the ease with which the Winner heir took his many sisters for granted. Instantly, Heero knew that if Yokaze was his sister, he would have to know everything about her, would have to protect her, would have to know her whereabouts at all times. He said, "How long would it take?"

            Quatre considered that. "I'm really not sure. Maybe a week. It depends on how busy she is. I could call her up and ask her."

            Heero was silent for a long minute. He knew that he wouldn't be settled until he knew, but how would he convince Yokaze to go along with it? She didn't seem to be in any hurry to resolve anything.

            As the silence rolled on, unbroken, Quatre washed his empty cup at the sink. "Well, let me know if you decide to do it," the tired but optimistic youth told him. "Thanks for the coffee."

            "Aa."

            While Quatre returned to his room, Heero watched the shadows slowly compact as the colony's lights followed the sun's natural arc. Quatre's offer tempted him. However, as the possibility of ending his solitary existence became even more real, he felt a twinge of panic, as if every part of him was being pushed into the light, leaving him none of his familiar shadows to hide in.

**.**

**            Katherine deserved to **know the truth.

            Trowa took a deep, fortifying breath as he knocked on her trailer door. It was late in the afternoon. Tonight they had a performance and everyone was indulging in a nap before the final preparations had to be made. He waited patiently as he listened to her voice telling him she'd be right there. Silently, he wondered how he was going to tell her. He could just give her the disk but no, that wouldn't do. His eyelids fluttered down as he searched within himself for the right thing to say, to do.

            And then it came to him.

            He removed the teddy bear from his partially-filled duffle bag.

            Kathy opened the door and, upon seeing him, smiled. Her blue eyes moved over his face and detected a tension in him. "Trowa? What is it?"

            And then her gaze fell to the toy in his hands.

            Recognizing it instantly, she gasped and reached for the doorframe. "Where did you get that?" she rasped, awed.

            Trowa moved one step closer to her and held out the disk. "This can explain better than I."

            She hesitated before she took it.

            Trowa saw her hand shake. She had good reason to be hesitant. With this information, their lives would be changed forever. Her blue eyes met his and then she held the door open for him. She wasn't sure she could read it alone.

            Trowa stepped inside. He understood her fear. He understood because she was his sister.

**.**

**            Duo walked in **on a conversation he knew he was not meant to witness. But he hesitated on the threshold of Yokaze's kitchen, intrigued.

            Yokaze and Heero were nose to nose. Their cobalt eyes glared with equal measures of arctic chill. Their jeans were faded, almost to white. Their boots smudged with dirt. One of them (Duo was embarrassed to realize he couldn't tell which one) was wearing a black T-shirt and a jean jacket. The other a sweat shirt. They were covered from neck to heel. That gave him absolutely nothing to go on. 

            "Have you considered the possibility that having a sibling will dramatically decrease your mobility and expendability as a soldier?" The voice was low-pitched, almost a rumble. It had come from the sweatshirt-ed Heero. Duo was sure that one was the real Heero Yuy. That voice was unmistakable.

            A growl escaped the other Heero's clenched teeth. "Doesn't the incompleteness of the data disturb you at all?"

            Duo frowned. They _both_ sounded like Heero. He could see it coming; this was going to be one of those embarrassing moments.

            "I don't believe I was provided with that part of the training."

            "Training has nothing to do with it."

            There was a pause. The Heero with the sweatshirt blinked; the cobalt gaze softened a degree. Bluntly, he/she said, "You actually want to know."

            "Yes."

            There was a pause before two fisted hands got shoved into jean pockets. "Fine," came the growl of assent.

            "I'll inform Quatre."

            They stepped away from each other. One strode to the coffee pot to get a refill and the other turned to gaze at the view outside. Duo sighed. He still didn't have a clue.

            He cleared his throat and felt a shiver dance up his spine when two pairs of deadly, cobalt eyes focused on him. _There ought to be a law against _two _people having eyes like that. One set is bad enough. _"Uh, excuse me but which one of you has the Y chromosome?"

            The Heeros looked at each other. It was a moment before the one at the window (in the sweatshirt) said, "He can't tell the difference."

            A spark of amusement entered the cobalt eyes of the second as he/she sipped from the coffee mug. "Obviously."

            The figure at the window reached down and grasped a duffle bag. "I haven't got time to hang around; there are some things I need to take care of." Duo watched helplessly, as the youth disappeared into the late evening, closing the door hard on the way out.

            He was alone. With either Heero or Yokaze. He bit his lip and stared at the person who was calmly sipping away, as if there was nothing better to do. Duo ventured, "Heero?"

            Humor sparkled briefly in the blue eyes. The only audible reply was the sound of coffee being sipped.

            Duo was seriously considering tackling this person and ripping that black T-shirt off so that he could be sure to whom he was speaking. Instead, he announced, "This is _not_ funny. You have no idea how paranoid I am after that spa thing."

            Humor burned a bit stronger this time.

            *SSSSIIIIIPPPP*

            "Argh! If you really are Heero, you are in _big_ trouble! How dare you discover your sense of humor at this precise moment! And, if you're Yokaze, well," Duo crossed his arms and tried to look indignant, "this is exactly the sort of thing I would expect from you. _You_ are a twisted individual and I'm forever grateful that no one ever gave you a gundam."

            Before Duo could continue on with his rant, a motion stopped him. The jean-clad shoulders were shaking. The cobalt eyes were glistening with tears. That was all the warning Duo had before his companion threw back his/her head and laughed.

            Owlish, violet eyes blinked at the sight. "Okay. Now I _know_ you're not Heero. He _never_ laughs. He doesn't know the first thing about appreciating my jokes or else he would have laughed a long time ago. So, since you're Yokaze, I think you're one really sick puppy to just stand there and laugh at my inability to tell the two of you apart."

            Tears were gathering in Heero/Yokaze's eyes. He/she had to set the coffee mug down in order to rub away the dampness. "Duo..." the youth tried to manage.

            "Is this going to be an apology?"

            "Duo, you idiot." He/she was still struggling for control, so the voice that said Duo's name was uncensored, allowing a note of affection to color the words.

            Duo heard it and felt his pulse leap at the odd combination of Heero's voice and tenderness. But when he looked into the cobalt eyes again, they were somber, as if they had never laughed, but he thought he saw a spark of amusement still there, banked.

            From somewhere deep within Duo, a small voice prayed that he'd truly made Heero laugh. Heero and not Yokaze.

            Duo considered his own hands and suggested, "I could always shove you down on the floor and rip your shirt off."

            He cobalt eyes narrowed just as Duo realized that had _not_ sounded the way he'd wanted it to. "Uhh..."

            "Maxwell?"

            A drumroll of dread fell over him. "Er... Yeah?"

            "Omae o korosu."

            Pause. "Aw. Shit." Too late, Duo had figured it out.

            He'd just threatened to rip Heero's—the real Heero's—clothes off.

            This day was not going well.

**.**

**~End of Chapter 10~**


	13. Chapter 11: The M Word

**The Perfect Soldier**

**Chapter 11: The "M" Word**

**.**

**            Kathy had cried. **Trowa hadn't anticipated that.

            He wasn't sure what he'd expected. No one had ever cried for him, except Kathy. It seemed he still couldn't get used to that.

            Trowa ducked into the main tent. It was still too early for the others to be up and about and the place was predictably deserted. He was grateful for that. He needed to be alone for a while, to think. He took a deep breath and let it out. As he slowly relaxed, his thoughts bubbled to the surface, one by one.

            Not surprisingly, his first thought was of Yokaze. He still hadn't had the opportunity to ask her why. Why had she given _him_ back his past and not Heero? And how had she discovered the name he'd given her? Had she really been in the garden that night?

            With the thought of the night and darkness, his mind all too easily recalled the vision Yokaze had made in black leather and glitter.

            And blood.

            Oh, yes, Trowa had seen her right arm, completely painted with rust-red. Obviously, it hadn't been her own. She had moved easily with the grace that would have been impossible had she been injured.

            To say he'd been shocked by her appearance would have been a severe understatement. It had initiated something inside of Trowa, a restlessness he could not name, did not want to name. Over the past few days he'd been uneasy with the urgency to find her, but this was different. It was almost like—

            Trowa glanced up at the sound of the trapeze creaking under weight. Someone was up there. His green eyes narrowed as he reached for the ladder. As he swiftly pulled himself into the air, he considered the possibility that it was one of the mechanics, but he doubted it. All of them hated to spend anymore time than they had to on the trapeze. Usually, they left the final, minor adjustments to Trowa. That suited him fine. He would have checked it over anyway before Kathy had the chance to climb on it.

            He reached the top platform without making a sound and was startled to see a figure in a pair of grungy coveralls hanging over the edge. He didn't recognize the figure immediately because all he could see of it was the rear and long legs. A single hand appeared as the mechanic reached up to the platform, feeling about for something. Trowa crouched and gently nudged a monkey wrench closer to the grasping fingers. The instant the fingers touched it, it disappeared beneath the platform with the torso and head of the daring mechanic.

            Trowa cocked his head to one side, regarding this strange person. Everyone knew that taking care of the trapeze was Trowa's chore. Besides, who had the inclination to be up here in the first place? 

            There was a soft clang and the scrape of skin against metal. Swearing softly, the circus employee applied himself more diligently for several moments. Trowa watched as he slowly levered himself up, gripping the sides of the platform with grimy hands. Knowing better than to startle anyone in such a precarious state, he waited until the man's torso was safely balanced on the wide board.

            Before he could move or speak, the man froze. Slowly, he turned his face to examine the company. Trowa's green eyes widened a nanometer.

            "It's you," he said.

            Yokaze sat up. "Don't look so surprised. I work here."

            She carefully wiped her hands with a clean rag and reached for her tools. She watched him as she polished each instrument. "Something on your mind?"

            There was an edge to her voice that reminded Trowa of Duo's sarcasm. He remembered to exhale. "My sister calls you Yokaze."

            "Aa."

            "Why that name?"

            She gave him a long look. "Because I knew it would get your attention. You gave it to me, did you not?"

            Trowa's face was a blank mask, but inside he frowned. "You were in the garden?"

            A knowing expression formed on her face. "Of course."

            He took that piece of information and analyzed it. She waited for him to finish and polished the monkey wrench. Finally, he said, "There was blood on your arm this morning."

            She said, "I washed it off."

            Trowa could see she wasn't going to elaborate. "You have a guest," he continued.

            She nodded. "Don't concern yourself."

            But he was. She was planning something else. He could see it in her eyes. He was starting to empathize with Taki. She was giving him nothing in the way of answers.

            "There's something else," she noticed.

            Trowa eyed her for a long moment. Would she answer this question? The most important one? He knew he had to try. "My past..."

            "Aa."

            "Why me?"

            She blinked. The question had been unexpected. "Why not?" she countered.

            "Why do you... care about reuniting me with my past?"

            "I can't answer that."

            Trowa's soft voice accused, "Can't or won't?"

            She was silent for a full minute but her hands kept moving. Polishing.

            Trowa was prepared to out wait her. He had positioned himself between her and escape: the ladder. He insisted, "Can't or won't?"

            Finally, she told him, "In one week. I promise you'll get your answer then."

            Trowa's green eyes examined her. She didn't so much as swallow under his scrutiny. "Alright," he said finally, acknowledging the fact that she simply wasn't going to tell him yet, "then answer me this. Why was I first? Why not Heero?"

            She systematically replaced the tools in their leather, roll-up holder. When she was finished she lifted her cobalt stare to his green one and said simply, "You were alphabetically first, Mr. Barton."

**.**

**            Quatre's sister, Althea, **was able to meet with Heero and Yokaze the next morning. So, at exactly seven fifteen a.m., the two left their apartments accompanied by Wufei, Taki, Trowa, Duo, and Quatre. A brief half an hour and two blood samples a piece later, Althea sent them on their way, promising to tell the lab it was urgent. They'd get the results in about two weeks.

            The atmosphere at Yokaze's was a bit deflated after that. Although Taki was bored out of her mind (and tired from waking up at six in the *bleep*-ing morning), she noticed that Heero (or Yokaze as everyone was calling her now) seemed immune. She fixed a tray and disappeared from the kitchen, closing the spare bedroom door behind her.

            "Well," Duo said, "what is that all about?"

            Taki shrugged and smothered a yawn. "How should I know?"

            "I thought you were the expert," he challenged.

            She was too tired to threaten him but she did manage a watery glare. "If it's important, she'll tell us."

            "What if it's important and she doesn't?" Duo demanded. "We could be missing out on something exciting."

            Taki put her head in her hands and mumbled, "I've had just about as much excitement as I can stand." 

            Duo studied Taki's slumped form for a minute. "I thought you were going to kill Yokaze, er, Heero. What happened to your plan?"

            Taki lifted her head and grinned like the cat that caught the canary. She replied with great relish, "She told me all about the spa incident." Taki enjoyed seeing Duo blush. "I forgave her after that," she continued. "How could I not? She shared all of her... observations."

            Quatre, having overheard that, was turning red as well. Trowa was pointedly glaring out the window. Taki sighed and wished for the hundredth time that Wufei had been in the spa, too. That would have been absolutely perfect. She watched as Duo, wearing a particularly becoming shade of crimson, stomped away, muttering to himself.

            "Well," Quatre said, standing up, "I think I'll make some tea." His scarlet neck, face, and ears disappeared into the kitchen.

            Duo had taken up pacing back and forth in front of the guestroom door. Taki watched the hopeless male with something akin to sympathy. No matter how much he wanted to know what was going on, there was no way Yokaze would tell anyone before she was ready. And _that_ was a fact.

**.**

**            "You gonna boss **me around some more?" Bisho's defiant, violet eyes attempted to stare down her hostess.

            "Yes. Go brush your teeth."

            "_Shit_."

            "No, just use the toothpaste."

            Bisho blinked before the remark hit home. She couldn't stop a grin from pulling at her mouth. "You know, you're gonna make one mean mom, someday."

            In the act of stripping the stale linens from the bed, Yokaze's hands paused. Finally, she said, "You think so?"

            "Abso-damn-lutely," the young girl informed her, "Your kids won't have a chance."

            "That is certainly true. Now quit stalling. Brush."

            Bisho sighed and disappeared into the adjoining bath.

            Yokaze's gaze didn't lift from the rumpled white sheet in her hands. Why had she chosen this color? Wasn't there a set of green linens around here somewhere? Anything but white?

            Over the sound of rushing water in the next room, Yokaze announced, "I'm smelling your breath when you come out."

            The muffled curse never met Yokaze's ears; she was too busy balling up the old sheets with more force than was necessary.

**.** ****

**            It was getting harder** and harder for Taki to both avoid Wufei and keep herself from wringing his neck. What was with him, anyway? His black glare never seemed to be far from her and, quite frankly, she was about ready to put a brown paper bag over his head. Who did he think he was, distracting her with those eyes? It was illegal, it had to be. Couldn't he just leave her alone? Really, after that circus fiasco, she would've been perfectly happy if she'd never seen him again. More than once, she'd considered taking off, but her curiosity—damn pesky thing—wouldn't let her leave until she found out with everyone else if Heero had a sibling. Taki had been left out of so much of her friend's life that she wasn't about to leave now. It was an odd time for her stubborn streak to assert itself.

            He was glaring at her again. She could feel it. Well, forget him. She was too tired to care. What had possessed her? Waking up at six in the bleeping morning? And for what? The most boring show in the universe, that's what. Who knew that DNA tests were so anticlimactic?

            She pretended to ignore Wufei and watched Quatre and Duo. They were making dinner. Taki paused and considered that statement for a minute. At that moment, Quatre let out a squawk of surprise as Duo tossed a small handful of flour at the blonde's immaculate shirt.

            Taki rephrased: Quatre was making dinner. Duo was making a mess. But it was entertaining, she was forced to concede. She leaned back in her chair to enjoy the show. Quatre was reaching for Duo's braid with a spoonful of molasses and a wicked gleam in his eyes.

            Slowly, the ex-thief became aware that the boy-Heero was in her line of vision now. She almost fell out of her chair. Was that an actual smile he was trying so hard to smother? She could see that this deserved more attention. With carefully lowered lashes, she studied the warm gleam of... humor? friendship? Dare she speculate... affection? in his eyes?

            Hm. Interesting.

            Duo caught his hair back just in time to avoid Quatre's attack. However, the blonde multi-millionaire was not without a Plan B. No one except Taki had spied the hunk of butter in Quatre's _other _hand. She winced in anticipation.

            But the second wave never came.

            Well, maybe it did, but it didn't have anything to do with food.

            Heero walked into the kitchen.

            In a tuxedo.

            Of all things.

            Taki had never seen her in a tux before. And she'd actually made an effort to tame her hair. The results of the struggle were quickly fading. Perhaps it was because this was the first time Heero had appeared in a tux, or done her hair, regardless Taki found the temptation too delicious to resist. She turned her complete and undivided attention on Yokaze.

            "Nice duds."

            "Hn." She went over to the sink where she gently disarmed Quatre with a stern look.

            Taki was not about to be put off. "So, what are you all dressed up for?"

            From the most shadowed corner of the room, Trowa took care to observe his hostess from beneath his lashes. Yokaze's face remained a flat mask—so like Heero's—but something sparked in her eyes at Taki's challenge. "I thought I'd rob a bank. There isn't any excitement in this town."

            Trowa smothered a tiny smile when he recognized that spark as her opportunistic, dry humor. Had he ever seen that in Heero? He didn't think so.

            "I bet you were planning to leave me here at the house, too, weren't you?"

            "With five handsome men?" her voice was flat, dull, but the humor sparkled still. "You can thank me later."

            "Yeah. Right. So, seriously, where're you off to?"

            "I'm zipping over to Earth for the evening. Dinner. Dancing." Her tone was so flat that Trowa could hear "yada, yada" after she'd stopped speaking.

            "Heero!"

            "I'm working."

            "You're going to fix stuff at the circus wearing _that_." She was horrified. And amazed. And possibly impressed in spite of herself.

            Yokaze snapped an impatient glare in her direction. "I'm returning a favor to George. His bassist is sick and the band is booked at The Red Eye tonight."

            Taki smiled at her friend's soft spot for George and music. She purred, "You're such dedicated friend."

            "Oh, shut up."

            Trowa observed the banter between the two without seeming to. He was intrigued that this woman who looked so much like Heero, who'd been trained by the same men as Heero, could still make fun of something. In the face of battle, of massacre, Trowa's sense of humor had been the first thing he'd lost. How was it hers had survived?

            Soon, it would be time to ask her a few more questions. And Trowa had always been patient. So he waited. But this time, he found it more difficult to do so. He crossed his arms over his chest and ignored this new restlessness.

            Taki grinned; this was one of her favorite pastimes: ribbing Heero. It had taken her years to develop a technique that was effective, and she wasn't about to let up now.

            "I think George should let you sing." Taki grinned wickedly. Heero _hated_ to sing. Ever since that one time she'd managed to get more than one drink down Heero _and_ a karaoke microphone in her hands, Heero had glared bloody murder at Taki every time she'd mentioned singing. This time was no different.

            Taki grinned and launched into a painful rendition of "Memory." The flaring of Heero's nostrils told Taki that she'd made a direct hit. A few more lines and their score would be settled. How dare Heero just take off and leave her out of the adventure? After this she'd think twice before doing _that_ again. And what was the deal with dumping that disk in her lap? Maybe she'd have to think of something painful for that one, too.

            She grinned, "Who would have guessed that the perfect soldier can't carry a tune?"

            Silence thundered through the kitchen. Only the sizzle of something on the stove disrupted the unnatural calm.

            However, instead of promising eminent, painful death as Taki had anticipated, Yokaze simply smiled and then directed her attention to Wufei. "Mr. Chang," she began, her voice a smooth medley and altogether too sweet, "forgive me, but I've never been clear on your relation to Taki."

            Taki felt her humor miraculously disappear. Somewhere in her mind, an execution drumroll sounded. Her dark eyes narrowed.

            The others glanced at Wufei, whose surprised expression faded into a dark glower.

            Behind Yokaze, Taki said, "I swear to God, if he tells me he's my brother I'll kill something. I really will. And then I'll disown him. There's no way I'm related to this... this..." How could she accurately describe something so annoying? There weren't any words strong enough.

            Before Taki could think of a suitable insult, Yokaze directed her voice to Wufei once more. "I had hoped you would have filled her in back at the circus, but I see that you didn't." She turned around. "Quatre, dinner smells delicious. Marry me anytime."

            His blush was a bit late in coming because he was puzzling over the developing situation between Wufei and Taki. He opened his mouth to say that it had been his pleasure to make dinner when Taki's voice cut across the table.

            "Well, are you just going to leave me hanging?" Hostile glare to hostile glare, Taki and Wufei stared at each other.

            Very deliberately, Wufei told her, "I have no relationship to you, _Taki_."

            Her eyes narrowed even more. "You're being an ass because you don't think I could be L5's long lost heir? Gee, you're a hard sell, Chang."

            A muscle ticked along Wufei's cleanly shaven jaw. "What I am or am not is none of your business."

            She rolled her eyes. "Oh puleeeze. You are so full of yourself. Tell me, when you go out for dinner, do you have a discussion with your ego about which one of you will pay the check?"

            Someone in the room snickered but the arguing couple were too engrossed to care.

            "At least I _pay_," he snarled.

            A strangled sound escaped Taki's throat. Her voice was on its heels. "And you will, Chang. Just wait. You think that just because I spared Heero I'll go easy on you? Dream on, Dragon Boy."

            His lip curled. "It is you who are dreaming. _I_ was a gundam pilot. _You, _who possess no honor whatsoever, are little better than a gutter rat. And I would sooner marry a rodent than a woman such as yourself."

            Caught up in her anger, Taki missed the crucial "M" word. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

            "Marriage," he repeated loudly. Wufei had risen from his seat and was actually shouting at his defiant opponent. "Perhaps you haven't heard of it. It's an honorable contract between two people—"

            "I know what marriage is you insufferable—"

            "And I'll no more honor our betrothal—"

            "Arrogant, ass. It's obvious that you don't know the meaning—"

            "Than I'll honor a mad man's promise of a peaceful future."

            "Of survival or else you'd applaud me for my career choice."

            The couple stood nose to nose now, their breathing ragged and harsh in the thick air. It was Taki who blinked first, Taki who replayed the conversation first. She paled as the anger left her in a single, cold rush. Her voice was barely more than a whisper when she said, "What did you say?"

            A cruel gleam entered his eyes. "Can you be a little more specific?"

            Blessed anger surged back into her. "Marriage, you idiot. You mentioned marriage."

            "So you've heard of it? Would you like me to elaborate on the principle? Give you a general idea?"

            "I don't think you could be more of a prick if you actually _tried_," she hissed. "I damn well don't need _you_, an ungrateful snob, to tell me about it."

            "Then why did you ask?"

            "Because I am damn well not betrothed to your sorry ass!"

            Wufei blinked. Realization dawned on him with a near-physical blow. He covered the self-disbelief in his eyes quickly. His voice was low and calm when he replied, "No, _Taki_, you and I are not betrothed. Zhih Luei and I were promised to each other before she disappeared. If I ever find her, I will have to honor my family's contract. However, you are not a member of the Dragon Clan. And, certainly, no member of the Zhih household would be so undignified as to renounce her honor."

            Taki seethed but kept a ruthless grip on her temper. "What about the tattoo?"

            In a flash, he recalled bending over her, taking her essence deep into his lungs, feeling his pulse leap at the scent of her. His voice was harsh with self-directed anger. "What about it? It's a convincing replica. Nearly an original piece of work."

            "You're so damn sure." There was more accusation than certainty in her voice.

            His glare intensified until it felt as if there was no room beyond Taki, no kitchen, no dinner, no colony, nothing. The intimacy was magnified with his low growl. "DNA doesn't lie."

            Dear God, did this man's arrogance never stop? "What DNA? Since when did I consent to a DNA test?"

            "When you claimed to be Zhih Luei." He saw the question in her eyes that she wanted so badly to ask. With a smug expression, he said, "A single hair is all that was needed, Taki. Soon, we'll both know who you're _not._"

            Taki was shaking she was so incensed. Why was she putting up with this? Oh. Right. Heero. Sibling. Yeah. Got it. She examined Wufei's triumphant expression and decided she wasn't so curious after all.

            Screw this. She was outta here.

            Without so much as a backward glance, she settled her backpack around her shoulders and walked out the door. 

**.**

**~End of Chapter 11~**


	14. Chapter 12: Violet Eyes

**The Perfect Soldier**

**Chapter 12: Violet Eyes**

**.**

**            He should have **been glad to see her go. 

            And he was.

            He should have been relieved, vindicated.

            Wufei Chang told himself that this was the case as well.

            So why was he dwelling on that final image of her? 

            His mind forced upon him the memory of her eyes, in pain, in rage, in defiance—always the defiance. The tension in her slim, strong shoulders. The way her dark hair had shone auburn in the dimming sunlight. In that final moment before she had turned away from him, she had been enraged, yet silent, calm, confident. Beautiful.

            His hands fisted and he growled at the colony's battered cityscape. The cityscape did not flinch under the force of Wufei's aggression. Ruthlessly, he forced the tension and unease from his face, from his neck, until it was a tight, poisoned ball in his gut.

            He hated this emotion; it made him weak, useless.

            He'd only felt this way once before, when the warm body he'd held close had shuddered with its last heartbeat; when Nataku herself had become mortal with a final breath.

            Wufei forced himself to take a deep breath, but it didn't calm him. Instead it fed the fire he'd banked deep within. The uselessness. The rage at his own weakness.

            Why was he still plagued by this? Hadn't he become stronger?

            He thought of Meiran. He thought of Taki. In his mind, they became one, and he understood at last; he'd failed all over again.

**.**

**            "Maybe we should **take him some cookies."

            Duo glanced up sharply, possession stamped on his features. "Not a chance, Quatre. These are _my_ Oreos. And he was a total jerk today. There is no way I'm going to share my chocolate with... with _that_."

            Quatre's gaze didn't waver from the fire escape; Wufei had secluded himself on the roof shortly after Taki had gathered her things and walked out. Quatre was concerned; the thunderous expression on the other pilot's face was more than unusual; it was unprecedented. Slowly, the venom in Duo's words called Quatre back to the card game they'd been struggling through for the last hour. Quatre's large, aqua eyes studied Duo.

            It was easy to see that the other man was angry. Usually, Duo barely glanced at his cards and shuffled them often. Tonight, however, he stared at his cards with an intensity that would cause spontaneous combustion in a matter of minutes and his hands were still, clutching the cards, even bending them a bit. Quatre received the message loud and clear.

            After a minute of awkward silence, Quatre said, "You like her."

            It took Duo a minute to comprehend what his card opponent had suggested. Surprise made his jaw slacken. "Huh?"

            Quatre was patient. "Taki. You like her, don't you?"

            Duo had recovered. "I respect her," he grudgingly admitted. A slow smile started across his face. "I have to. She stole Wufei's bike not once, but twice. That kind of achievement ought to be rewarded." He frowned as his thoughts returned to Wufei's most recent activities. "But Wufei's such a self-righteous..." Duo sighed. "He's skeptical. Sure. All of us are. So much has happened these past few days that it feels like old times, you know? But he didn't have to treat her that way. She's an orphan, like me. And, well, deep down, all of us want to know if we're a part of something. If we belong someplace."

            There was long, thoughtful pause.

            "Argh! Listen to me! I'm letting that idiot ruin my evening. So, it's your turn, right, Q?"

            Quatre blinked. "I... I don't remember."

            For a moment, they simply looked at each other.

            Duo threw his cards down and stood up. "Me either," he admitted with disgust. It was obvious that neither he nor Quatre would be able to concentrate on strategy, at least until they'd had a snack. Duo took stock of his food supply. "The milk's almost gone," he thought out loud. Obviously, he would have to rectify that; a person can't eat Oreos without milk. He said, "Com'on, Quatre."

            "Where are we going?"

            "To Yokaze's kitchen."

            "What for?"

            "For _food_, what else? I'm starving. And I'm going to need you to help me carry this stuff."

            With no small amount of reservation, Quatre followed. Maybe he'd be able to keep Duo from completely cleaning out her refrigerator. Maybe. 

            The downstairs was completely dark; Yokaze hadn't yet returned from The Red Eye. Confident that she wouldn't be returning for at least another hour and a half, Duo flipped on the kitchen light and considered where he should start. So many possibilities, so few arms to carry them. He briefly considered heading back upstairs to recruit Heero, but, in the end, simply opened the pantry and got to work.

**.**

**            The window in **the guest room was watched over by the artificial stars that dotted the colony's domed atmosphere. They gazed on in steady silence as the curtains parted and a small, heart-shaped face peeked into the gloom. The bandage was gone and the discoloration of the many bruises had faded to some extent. But determining the features of that face was still difficult due to the wild mass of honey-brown hair that insisted on obscuring as many details as possible. The tresses were alive with the single purpose of maintaining its mistress's anonymity.

            On the other side of the glass, the young girl searched the darkness. She was bored. Hopelessly, undeniably bored. And all Yokaze had brought for her to do was read books about survival techniques in just about every clime imaginable. Bisho could take only so much.

            She let the curtain fall back into place; she wouldn't be entertained by anything out there. Her violet gaze roved to the door. To say she was curious about the rest of Yokaze's digs was an understatement. For the past two days she'd kept herself cooped up in this room, taking her hostess's advice to avoid her other guests. But it was nearly midnight. Who would be up at this hour? Surely she could safely explore the place now.

            Her mind set, she threw back the covers and gingerly arranged herself so that her long, skinny legs dangled over the side of the bed. She sat there for some time, catching her breath. Her bruised ribs still hurt like lousy sons of bitches. But she didn't let that stop her. Slowly, she stood and pulled off the nightgown that was beginning to smell like her. Ick. She needed something fresh.

            Carefully, she moved to the wardrobe and examined the contents. After a long moment, she pulled out a pair of baggy sweats and a tank top. They weren't her preferred choice of outer wear, but they'd do.

            Ten minutes later, she'd wrestled herself into the outfit. She was winded, sore, but twice as determined. After all this effort, like hell she was going to lay back down again.

            She wrapped her slim hand around the door knob and hesitated. For days she'd feared that it was locked and feared that it wasn't. Was she trapped? If she wasn't, did that mean anyone could get in while she slept? She turned her wrist. The knob rotated in her grasp.

            Well, that answered her question. She'd been a willing prisoner, then. And the other house guests had—as far as she could tell—behaved themselves and left her alone.

            She'd never seen the rooms beyond the guest room. It opened up into a spacious living room that was pretty plain except for all the blankets and swords. She let go of the door and heard it snap shut behind her. Using the dim light that found its way through the front windows, Bisho drank in Yokaze's den. She had good taste. Bisho caressed a blanket and amended her thoughts. She had _expensive_ taste. Automatically, she calculated the monetary value of the things around her. On the heals of those figures, Bisho wondered where Yokaze had gotten the money. Did she work? The single question opened up an endless void of others. There was so little Bisho actually knew about the woman who'd taken her in. In fact, all Bisho could say for sure was that there was no such thing as crossing Yokaze. It was impossible. If she told Bisho to sleep, Bisho slept. If she said "Eat," Bisho ate. It was weird. Bisho never intended to be cooperative, but Yokaze's timing had always been so damn accurate that—

            A loud thump and a soft oath interrupted her. Her eyes focused on the kitchen door. Someone was down here. A man. That wasn't right. Yokaze had told her that her guests stayed upstairs at night. From ten until seven in the morning, it was just the two of them; Yokaze had promised. So, what was a guy doing in her kitchen after midnight? Bisho inched toward the door, straining to hear. She drew close enough to catch the concerned inquiry of a second man and the reply of first. Violet eyes narrowed. There were at least two of them. She was out numbered. If she were smart, she'd head back to her room and wedge a chair under the knob. But, on the other hand, did she really want to barricade herself in a room, looking like an invalid if these two came knocking? Better to be brazen now than have to bluff her ass off later.

            She stormed into the kitchen.

            She saw one of them immediately. A young, blond man was trying to balance several items in his arms. He looked away from the open refrigerator, blinking at the sudden interruption. The second one was half in and half out of the fridge, a long brown braid dangling down his back. 

            He said, "Is that you Heero? Get over here and give me a hand with this."

            The blonde said, "Uh, Duo..."

            "What?"

            Bisho saw that she had them right where she wanted them. In a loud voice she demanded, "What the hell do you think you're doing in Yokaze's kitchen?"

**.**

**            Duo's hands stopped **in the act of shoving tuperware dishes out of his way to get at the chocolate cake he'd spied in the back of the shelf. 

            Someone else was in the kitchen. It wasn't Yokaze or Taki or Trowa or Wufei or Heero.

            What an interesting development.

            Interesting, not life-threatening. For the life of him, he didn't understand why Quatre had that horrified expression on his face. Duo shot him an irritated glare before leaning around the fridge door. 

            He saw the problem immediately.

            A steady, insistent chant of denial started rolling through his skull.

            Slowly, he stood up and regarded the skinny girl with the heart-shaped face, violet eyes, and long gold-brown tresses.

_            No. No, no, no, no—_

            "Duo," Quatre said, a little awed, "she looks just like you."

            As if Quatre had pressed an electrode to Duo's brain, he instantly recalled his vain claim that no female, and certainly no sister of his, looked like him. Had it only been yesterday that he'd uttered that ignorant boast? It seemed as if his claim had purposefully conjured a female who made him a liar. He swallowed audibly. The intruder seemed no less amazed. The intruder. A female. Who looked like—

_            God... please... somebody... shoot me and put me out of my misery_...

            Quatre's voice filtered through his ears again, "Duo?"

            With an effort, he recovered enough to level a glare Heero would be proud of at Quatre. "Oh, shut up."

            "Who the hell are you?" Her voice was soft, shaking. She'd intended for it to be a shout, but it had come out as barely a whisper. She realized then how terrified she was of this man. This man who looked so much like her, who had the same violet eyes. No. It couldn't be. _He_ couldn't be.

            At that moment, Bisho's brain chose to recall Yokaze's promise. _I want many things for you. You'll leave here with more than you arrived with._

            Shit. Somebody _please_ tell her that this wasn't what she thought it was. 

            She had to get out of here. Run. Who had Yokaze thought she was, forcing this on Bisho? She refused to cooperate with Yokaze's will on this one. No way. She turned to make a run for it and stumbled upon a familiar cobalt gaze.

            "I see the two of you have met. Shall I make the introductions?"

            Yokaze was blocking the door with a hard look in her eyes. Bisho, realizing she was trapped, spat, "Shit."

            The corner of her hostess's mouth twitched. "Not in my sweats, you won't."

            Bisho's eyes narrowed. She was not in the mood to deal with Yokaze's dry humor. She opened her mouth to say something she hoped would be as witty as Yokaze's rejoinder, but another voice cut across the kitchen.

            "Tell me you didn't."

            It was the man who had the violet eyes.

            Yokaze actually grinned. "It seems, Mr. Maxwell, I _did_."

            Duo Maxwell groaned and grumbled a few choice words to himself.

            Reluctantly, Quatre suggested, "There's always the DNA test."

            Both Bisho and Duo glared at him.

            He said, "Sorry."

            Silence descended, but Yokaze studied it carefully. Long moments passed before she saw it: the first spark of wonder, of speculation, of hope in two pairs of violet eyes. It was so tentative, so new. A single wrong word or wrong look and that hope would be crushed. It had to be preserved. At any cost.

            She told Duo in her characteristic monotone, "For God's sake, don't call her Violet."

            It was the right thing to say. Bisho's lips curled at the edges, mirroring Duo's. Identical violet eyes grinned at each other in shared humor.

            It wasn't much, Yokaze knew. But beginnings never were. They were simply beginnings. The rest follows after.

**.**

**~End of Chapter 12~**


	15. Chapter 13: Intrusions

**The Perfect Soldier**

**Chapter 13: Intrusions**

**.**

**            The sweet, tender **notes plucked competently from the gleaming electric bass had quieted The Red Eye's milling patrons as nothing else could. In unison, every gaze had followed the roving blue stage light until it came to rest upon a single performer. The immaculate tuxedo, the calloused hands moving across the quivering strings, the tousled brown hair that tumbled over midnight blue eyes, all was revealed in time with the revelation of the melody that was slowly being woven from air and electricity. The tension in the room increased exponentially as the light fully revealed the familiar façade: Yokaze.

            And then a voice had reached out over the crowd: a man's voice. A second light roved to the microphone, revealing a tuxedo, an earring, and a bald scalp: George. He whispered the words with fluid confidence. And as the stanza came to a soft conclusion, there was a pause, a heartbeat, the lights faded. A beat came, went, disappeared into the past.

            It was out of this palpable anticipation that the music began. As one, the lights flashed as the five members of Prometheus sent the melody spiraling through the small bar. Trowa let the music flow over him, but he knew he wouldn't remember it distinctly later. He was occupied with observing the expression on Yokaze's face as she played, as she sang the chorus with the others, as she let herself become lost in a duet.

            The emotion in her hands, her face, her voice pulled an unnamed longing from deep inside of Trowa. It broke over him with enough force to make his voice catch. 

            But before he could turn his thoughts to it, the band's set was over.

            However, the roar of the crowd pulled them back. They played one more song and retreated.

            Once again, they were refused rest.

            This time, however, only Yokaze, George, and the percussionist emerged onto the stage. The rapt audience gazed in astonishment as George moved to stand behind the keyboard and Yokaze took the microphone. There was a roaring whisper of approval; all of them had heard her sing before; all of them waited for her to begin, unwilling to shout encouragement for fear they would miss a single word, a single syllable, a single vibration of her voice.

            A gentle rhythm trickled to life on the symbols. Deft chords emerged from beneath George's hands. And then she leaned into the microphone and closed her eyes. There were no words at first; she hummed the melody in the back of her throat, her voice husky and sure.

            And when the words came at last, they were simple, like the rest of the song. It wasn't an original piece, like the others the band had performed. It was very old, but so beautiful Trowa couldn't believe that anyone had allowed it to have been forgotten.

            "Your love is better than ice cream..." Her voice was low and rich, intimate. "Better than anything else that I've tried." The words wrapped around the room, seeped into the skin of the audience until every heartbeat pulsed with her voice. "Your love is better than ice cream, everyone here knows how to fight..." Her voice had nearly crumbled there, and the emotion carried him further, closer to the place only music could go. "It's a long way down..." A smile curved her lips and suddenly, the room, the people, everything fell away from him. "It's a long way down to the place where we started from."

            She opened her eyes as George and the percussionist took over for a handful of measures. As her dark gaze unveiled, he felt an answering leap in his pulse, as if she had looked right to the shadowy wall where he stood. The music, as always, could affect Trowa as nothing in the world could, and he was helpless in the face of this sensual assault. She _was_ the music.

            He couldn't stop his heart from feeling heavy. He couldn't keep his blood from racing, from singing with her. In that moment, he had a glimpse of his weakness: the weakness for music.

            And then her eyelids drifted lower. Her expression was dreamy, mysterious. "Your love is better than chocolate, better than anything else that I've tried..."

            She'd given herself completely to the words and her voice grew husky as her emotion spilled out.

            "All love is better than chocolate, everyone here knows how to cry... It's a long way down..."

            And it was. Trowa felt the distance, as if he were still in his gundam, falling to Earth. Her voice changed the gravity, removed the solid ground from beneath his feet. But her voice guided the descent and the fall was gentle, lazy, like coming awake slowly late on a sunny, Saturday morning.

            Reluctantly, Trowa's long lashes fluttered. It was morning. A Saturday. The colony "sun" light was streaming through the thin curtains and had warmed the air in the trailer; gold patterns of light and shadow spilled across Trowa's bare shoulder. For a minute, he was completely still, his bearings oddly absent.

            He'd been asleep, or nearly.

            He'd been remembering the concert last night.

            The one he'd gone to see with Kathy.

            He'd been reliving the music.

            The one song Yokaze had sung.

            There was a heaviness in Trowa's limbs, a contentment that made him want to burrow back into the warmth of sleep. And then he heard it.

            The soft whisper of a song floated up through the window pane.

            Green eyes snapped open as he tossed the sheet back and surged out of bed. 

            She was the first thing Trowa saw when he opened the door. She was half-buried in the engine of the semi used to transport the animals to the spaceport. Only her legs and posterior were visible, but even if she hadn't been murmuring an occasional line or two, he would have recognized her instantly; every time he'd seen her at the circus, she'd been buried up to her waist in some project; Trowa was slowly becoming acclimated to viewing her from this... unusual angle.

            "Better than chocolate..."

            Cautiously, Trowa approached, unaware that he was shirtless in the brisk morning air. He paused when she went completely still. Perhaps she could sense him. He opened his mouth to announce himself when she sighed.

            "Damn." Her voice was flat again; the song had taken the life in her voice with it. "This song is making me hungry." 

            As if on cue, her stomach complained loudly.

            Trowa was unaware that he was smiling. Her complaint was an impossible one; impossible for Heero Yuy, that is. He could see that Taki hadn't failed in her attempt to... unwind Yokaze's mind.

            Suddenly, she leaned up and looked over her shoulder, and directly into Trowa's eyes. He was a bit startled; he _knew_ that he hadn't made a sound. Her eyes sparkled underneath the artificial light. It was then that he noticed the grease smudge that ran in a single, black streak down her forehead and nose. _War paint_, he thought, his own humor stirring once more.

            "Your timing is amazing," she informed him.

            His right eyebrow lifted in unspoken inquiry.

            "Come, Igor, hold this wrench." She turned back to the truck.

            So she needed an assistant. And it seemed that he was it. Trowa approached the truck, feeling an odd force batter at his customary indifference. Deliberately, he shifted his attention to the situation before him.

            Briefly, Trowa experienced a sense of déjà vu as he grasped the tool she'd indicated. He recalled that battle in the arctic that Heero had accepted. During that time, Trowa had followed the other youth's lead in adjusting Heavyarms. As Yokaze bent over the engine, he glimpsed the same focused expression in her cobalt eyes. In her voice, he heard the same monotone. Trowa could only pinpoint the single, defiant streak of motor oil as distinguishing the Yokaze now from the Heero of his memory.

            But he wasn't in the arctic any longer. The colony was, thus far, promising that the next twelve hours would develop into a pleasant day. And he wasn't adjusting Heavyarms. He was holding a wrench to a truck engine. And the mechanic wasn't Heero. It was Yokaze, the night wind, the soldier prototype, the silent watchman of the gundam pilots, the OZ mecha-mechanic, the one who returns pasts to their rightful owners, and, most recently, the musician.

            His gaze slid to her grease-smudged hands. Last night, her calloused hands had transformed when the bass guitar had filled them. Last night, her voice had been infused with the emotion she never allowed herself to show. The stage or the lighting or the audience or the music itself—_something_—had been the catalyst, transforming her into the sensual woman who had sung a single song—a song Trowa had difficulty forgetting. In fact, he couldn't honestly say that he wanted to forget it. Long ago, Nanashi had stopped believing in magic, but Trowa didn't have any other words to describe her music, her voice, her emotion.

            He was drawn out of his thoughts as she leaned away from the truck and returned his gaze. With a small, internal start, he realized that he'd been staring at her—

            The spark of humor in her eyes was stronger than before when she informed him, "If you're finished with that, I'll start her up."

            —and holding the same wrench for the past five minutes. Long after Yokaze had moved on to adjust other things in the engine, he'd remained frozen, clutching the now useless tool. He stepped away from the truck, only then noticing that his feet and arms were bare; he'd rushed outside in only a pair of worn jeans.

            He ignored the cool wind with ease and followed Yokaze with his gaze. She slid behind the wheel of the monstrous truck and turned the ignition. The vehicle purred to life—it did not growl or rumble or grumble to life, it _purred._

            What had she done to the thing?

            "You look like you have a question, Mr. Barton."

            She still called him that. Even though she, first before all others, had known his real name. He shrugged that thought—and whatever emotion was waiting inside of it to ambush him—aside.

            Questions? He had dozens. 

            He told her, "During the war, did you ever..." He hesitated for a moment over the most accurate wording. "... approach us?"

            She turned off the ignition as she turned her full attention to him. "No. Never," she replied, her gaze steady. "None of you ever saw me. Last February was the first." Her breath came out in an almost-sigh. "If I had been capable of accomplishing the mission myself, I never would have revealed my existence."

            Trowa couldn't smoother his moderate surprise. His face and voice remained mellow, however. "You never would have told Heero?"

            She gazed back at him, her usually flat expression showing hints of resignation. "It was too soon. It still is." She slid out of the truck and closed the door. It protested with a squeak as it rotated on its hinges. Silently, she slipped around to the other side of the truck to fetch a can of lubricant from her supplies.

            "Good morning... Trowa."

            He turned, recognizing Kathy's greeting instantly. She was still sleepy from the late night, but she wasn't too tired to rake him with her protective gaze. "Aren't you cold? Why don't you put a shirt on?" she suggested with concern. 

            "I'm fine."

            Her gaze flicked to his hands. "You've been helping Yokaze?"

            Trowa realized that he was still holding the damn wrench. The light must have caught it and drawn Kathy's gaze.

            "The two of you are getting to be friends, then?" She didn't wait for his reply. "I'm glad," she informed him. She yawned. "Well, I'm going to get a cup of coffee, can I bring you one?"

            Trowa shook his head and watched her stroll toward the mess hall. A moment later, Yokaze emerged with an unreadable expression on her face and a spray can in her hand.

            Kathy's words echoed in Trowa's mind.

_            The two of you are becoming friends..._

            ... becoming friends...

           Trowa worried the phrase for a long moment. He could now smell coffee in the air; Kathy had entered the mess hall, allowing a cluster of breakfast odors to be caught in the breeze.

            Could she bring him a cup of coffee?

            Trowa mused in silence.

            Suddenly, he was completely awake.

. ****

**            Bisho swore in **a very unladylike fashion as her wrist tightened painfully in mid rotation. Nerveless fingers released their hold on the hairbrush. Violet eyes watched helplessly as it clattered to the vanity tabletop. For a long moment, she simply sat there, her hair a hopeless mass of tangles and snarls. Her eyes slowly lifted from the brush to the mirror. She was a mess. In fact, she looked like hell. The bruises had turned a sickly shade of green-gray and the small gash was a stark, dark red line of scabs. She looked like one of Dr. Frankenstein's projects.

            She wanted to cry. The slight quiver of her lower lip caught her attention and she valiantly forced away the burning sensation behind her eyes. She would not cry. She never cried. Crying was for babies, who didn't know any better. But Bisho was old enough to realize that crying meant you had a weakness, and if you had a weakness someone would find it and use it. And then you would wish that you were dead.

            When she looked at the mirror this time, she didn't see herself. She concentrated on one small part of the image at a time, never viewing the whole. Objectively, she noticed that, indeed, the hair was the only item that she could do anything with. The bruises would fade on their own. As would the cut. But the hair... that could only get worse.

            With new determination, she picked up the brush once more. Bisho took a fortifying breath and, clutching a small section of her honey-brown hair, began to carefully brush. But as soon as she hit a snarl, her wrist screamed in agony.

            The brush clattered to the floor.

            "Shit!"

            She gave up and buried her eyes in her good hand. She was trying so hard to regain her calm that she didn't hear the soft knock on the bedroom door. 

            God, she wished that she could just curl up and sleep forever. She'd been an idiot to promise Yokaze that she'd stay here for a few more days. A moron. She needed to get the hell out of this place and away from _him_. Last night Yokaze had arrived before Bisho could flee. And then, in spite of herself, she had grown curious about the possibility. And then Yokaze had extracted that damn promise. Obviously, Bisho hadn't been thinking very clearly. 

            "Bisho? You okay?"

            She stiffened. She recognized that voice. She ordered, "Go away. I'm fine." But her voice didn't sound so tough, not even to her ears. She sounded like a wounded animal. Things just kept getting worse and worse. 

            "Uh huh," Duo mused from the doorway, his violet eyes critical. 

            She lifted her head and glared at his reflection in the mirror. "I'm fine," she repeated, her voice strong, as she'd originally intended. To prove her point, she bent and grasped the brush and began to work through her hair. The pain was incredible. But she kept her hand wrapped around the brush with a white-knuckle grip. Her vision had begun to blur so she didn't see his reflection move. Bisho started when he thrust his hand beneath her nose in a silent plea for the brush.

            She hesitated but, reluctantly, handed it over. Her hair needed to be straightened and she was in no condition to do it. Even if he pulled most of her hair out, it was better than irritating her wrist.

            But he was surprisingly gentle. It felt as if only his fingertips touched her hair, but slowly the section of soft, waving hair grew in size. Eventually, her eyes met his in the mirror. 

            "You're pretty good at that." She was surprised.

            Duo smiled. "I've had a lot of practice."

            Her eyes zeroed in on the tail of his braid as it swished behind him in time with the movements of his arms. "How long have you worn it like that?"

            "All my life."

            She studied his face; there had been a wealth of meaning in those three words. Even at her young age, she recognized and identified with the pain and determination in his voice.

            "Why?"

            Duo's hands paused for a moment at the question. No one, not even the other pilots had ever asked him that question; all of them had simply accepted the fact that it was a part of him. He couldn't remember the last time he'd spoken of the rationale behind his long hair. His hands started moving again as if they'd never stopped. He told her, "It's a long story."

            "Well I'm not going anywhere," she grumbled.

            Again, a smile stretched his mouth. "Well, since you asked so nice..."

            She sent him a glare, but there wasn't any heat in it.

            "I grew up on the streets, an orphan. I stayed with a few others. Together we'd steal what we needed to survive. It wasn't hard to do. Mercenaries were always attacking nearby so we took advantage of the chaos. Everything was in chaos, then. Battles were sudden and there never seemed to be any rhyme or reason to any of it. But none of us ever really believed we'd bite it. Then, one day, my best friend got sick. He didn't make it."  Even now, Duo grieved when he thought of his mentor, Solo. The older boy's death had been so senseless, so stupid, so avoidable.

            "So, after a while, I wound up at an orphanage of sorts.  A Catholic church.  But, weirdly enough, it became like a home.  That was where I learned how to braid my hair.  The people who looked after me were really nice."

            "What happened to them?" Bisho asked, dreading the answer.

            "A group of rebels forced themselves into the church.  They refused to leave.  So I made a deal with them.  I'd steal a mobile suit from the military base for them and they'd go.  When I got back, the Alliance had leveled the place.  No one survived."

            _Shit._  He winced at the pain in his chest.  It'd been a long time since that day, but he still felt so…  Duo gathered his calm and his breath once more. "So I thought to myself, 'There's only one thing in this world I can control.'"

            The conclusion shimmered in the air between them. 

            Bisho examined the braid once more. After a long moment, she spoke. "I understand."

            Duo replied, "I know." Carefully, he continued brushing. For a long minute, neither one spoke. And then he asked how she wanted her hair done.

            She thought about that for a long moment, watching the sway of his braid as it flicked to and fro. Was it possible this man was her older brother as Yokaze had implied? Of course, almost anything was possible. But did Bisho believe it? She looked in his violet eyes, so like hers, and realized that it didn't really matter. She was familiar with the chaos of which he spoke. She knew what it was like: the exhaustion of just trying to survive, the helplessness in the face of death. Although they might not be siblings in the biological sense, they certainly were in spirit.

            Bisho told him, "Like yours."

            His gaze lifted to hers and the unspoken agreement passed between them. They would accept Yokaze's judgment and each other. The alternative was too frightening... and lonely.

            Duo grinned, lightening the weight of the space between them. "One braid, comin' up."

            Bisho smiled back as he started hum some old opera tune. And then she flat out laughed when he cleared his throat, pressed his fingertips to his chest and started to really belt it out. Her half-braided hair in one hand and a comb in the one pressed to his sternum, Duo felt something inside of him shift at the sound of her laughter. And he had to keep himself from laughing with her. In fact, if he had allowed himself to laugh, he never would have heard the soft click of the door slipping back into its frame.

. ****

**            The uncompromising gaze **was turned inward as two strong, male hands went through the motions of rolling up a change of clothes. The act was automatic; he'd done it so often in his short lifetime. Once, he'd hoped that he'd never have to pack a thing again. He'd long since given up on that hope, but he remembered.

           He remembered so many insignificant things. And he remembered so many nightmares. Behind the shield of his skin, he relived them every day. No one knew, of course. And no one ever guessed. That was for the best.

            Just as what he did now was for the best. 

            There were questions that needed answers. Things that needed to be done before he could even consider facing the possibility that he had a family. 

            His thoughts lingered on the word: family.

            It would be better for everyone if it weren't true. If she were just another stranger.

            But what if she wasn't?

            No, the response to that was simple. He could still leave. She would never find him. She would no longer exist for him. And he would continue to not exist.

            But that wasn't what was really bothering him.

            He _wanted_ her to be his sister.

            He had begun to _hope_ that she was.

            And he could not afford to give himself over to hope.

            Not until he was free of his past. Not until Heero Yuy had been destroyed.

            His hands paused as a soft tap on the door drove a wedge between his thoughts. Heero looked over his shoulder as Duo slipped into the room, uninvited. For a long moment, they simply stared at each other, neither moving, neither speaking. As the moment dragged on, Heero's gaze slipped down to Duo's hands.

            Human intimacy. Why did it come so easily to Duo? How could he be so open with a girl he'd only known a handful of hours? How could he joke and smile and play hairdresser to a complete stranger? That scene that had twisted something inside of Heero's chest and made him ache as if his sternum were a thick sheet of ice on the verge of cracking under the warm, sunny weight of an early thaw. Even now, as he stared once more into the violet eyes, his own gaze schooled into cool disinterest, he felt the weight return, harsher and heavier than it had ever been.

            Two days ago, when they had first arrived at Yokaze's apartment building, it had seemed so clear to Heero; in that single instant as they stood at the window, he had seen straight through Duo's smile and nonsense. It had shocked him, this uncanny similarity; just as Heero was compelled to lose himself in an impossible dream, Duo was compelled to offer reassurance. Even at the cost of himself. Heero had never guessed. Certainly, he had known that the smile, the jokes, were all part of the mask he wore, but to find compassion beneath it...

            "What do you want?" Heero's voice was even harsher than usual. The abrasiveness made Duo blink once in surprise.

            "I could ask you the same question," he countered.

            Heero stared at him. _What do I want?_ The question whiplashed back at him. As it pulsed slowly inside his skull, Heero could only stand helpless and numb. _What do I want?_ His gaze locked with Duo's.

            "You came by Bisho's room. What's up?" Duo flopped down with his characteristic nonchalance in the office chair behind Heero's laptop. He leaned back in the swivel chair until its frame creaked.

            Heero frowned slightly. Why had he stopped by Yokaze's apartment? "It wasn't important."

            "So?" Duo shrugged. "I'm here now, aren't I? So you might as well tell me."

            Heero glanced away. Why had he stopped by Yokaze's apartment? As Heero's silence wore on, Duo began to spin slowly in the chair.

            "I'm not leavin' 'til you tell me," he threatened in a merry sing-song.

            On the verge of concocting something—anything—to satisfy Duo (although Heero wasn't sure why he didn't just order him to leave), Duo stopped the chair in front of the laptop and looked at it. 

            "Hey! This looks new. What's this button do?"

            "Don't touch anything," Heero scolded absently.

            Duo glanced over his shoulder, finger poised above the aforementioned button. "Did you program this thing to self-destruct or something?" His expression seemed to suggest that he'd been waiting for the day when Heero Yuy installed a self-destruct in his laptop.

            Heero bit off a sigh. "I came to tell you I was leaving." It was the first thing—the only thing—he thought of to say.

            Duo swiveled away from the laptop and looked startled. "_You're_ actually _telling me_ that you're taking off?"

            There was a beat of silence.

            "Okay. Who are you and what have you done with Heero? Am I talking to Yokaze this time? Dammit. Can't you two wear name tags or something? What are you doing in Heero's room, anyway?"

            "Duo, shut up. I need you to keep an eye on Yokaze."

            Duo's mouth clicked shut. "Oh. Well, why didn't you just say so? And how come you said that it wasn't important? Sounds pretty important to me."

            With his second improvisation out of the way, Heero felt himself warming up for the next. "I realized that you've got a lot on your mind."

            "What? You mean Bisho?"

            Heero nodded once.

            "Yeah," Duo agreed, running a hand through his unruly bangs. "That one floored me. Although, I talked to Yokaze this morning and she said that her timing was pretty much a fluke."

            "A fluke?"

            "It seems she only found Bisho about five days ago. Some timing, huh? First Trowa, then Taki and Wufei, now me." What Duo didn't say was that Yokaze had found Bisho sleeping in the colony cemetery, curled up on a fresh mound of dirt. The grave hadn't been the only thing that had only just begun its existence. The girl commemorated on the marker had only been seventeen years old. It was sobering that even after the war, people Duo's age and younger were still dying. Even more sobering was the cruel parallel between himself and Bisho, each having experience surviving on the streets, each having lost a mentor.

            "You'd better be careful," Duo said, drawing himself back into the conversation he'd started and then abandoned. "You're probably next. Your surprise will probably be that Yokaze's really from Mars or something where there's a secret colony full of Heero Yuys. "

            Heero stared at him. And Duo believed that Yokaze wasn't of sufficient sanity to pilot a gundam? Where did he come up with this stuff, anyway? Heero simply grunted and turned back to his task of packing.

            "You, uh, want any help with packing?"

            "No."

            An awkward silence followed the abrupt reply. In truth, Heero hadn't meant to sound so gruff. It seemed that whenever Duo offered him anything, his reaction was always the same. Except for that one time just after their arrival. Heero wasn't sure what it had been about that moment, but he hadn't pushed Duo away then. In fact, he'd reached out himself. He must have been tired. Exhausted. Not thinking clearly.

            Yes. That was it.

            Duo stood. "Okay. I can take a hint." He hesitated for a moment. "You want someone to watch your back or something?"

            He struggled not to bark his response. "No."

            With his hand on the door knob, Duo observed, "I guess it doesn't really matter. Yokaze will probably be there, anyway. Whether you want her there, or not." Duo smiled at the fate of it all. Heero Yuy, the loner, the perfect soldier, had an inseparable shadow.

            He watched Duo close the door behind him, his mind lingering on the possibility that Yokaze might follow him, watch out for him.

            It made Heero's chest feel tight.

            With a small start, he told himself to get moving.

            Calloused fingers zipped the duffle shut with deft movements. It was time.

            The young man who answered to the name Heero Yuy turned his back on the comfort of the room, and closed the door silently behind him. In minutes, he had completely disappeared into the night.

**.**

**            "So then Wufei says **that I'm not Zhih Luei."

            George looked up from the guitar he was quietly tuning. Taki was standing in front of the bay windows in his studio apartment, arms crossed and looking mad as hell. Although she stood facing the late afternoon "sun," in profile to him, he'd never seen such a thunderous expression on her face. Not even when Heero had abandoned her on Q3859 during a colony lockdown two years ago.

            Sensing that she was waiting for a verbal cue to continue, George prompted, "Wh-what happened after that?"

            She shrugged. "Oh, I told him that he was being unreasonable. After all, how hard is it to believe that I could be this long-lost heiress? The odds are overwhelmingly in my favor," she drawled, her voice a flood of sarcasm. "How many girls are there who have been orphans for as long as they can remember _and_ have a nifty dragon tattoo on the back of their neck?"

            George's eyebrows rose at her venom.

            "I still want to know how the hell Heero knew about that, anyway. The bitch."

            "Y-you blame He-heero?"

            Taki sighed. "I should. I really should. I ought to lock her in a small room with ten undersexed men for a week. But, it's honestly not her fault that Wufei is such a jerk."

            George's bushy, brown eyebrows hitched higher. "O-only a j-jerk, Taki?" He was surprised that she hadn't called him something more obscene. It was something that probably surprised her as well. Her scowl took a turn for the darker as she turned over his comment. George foresaw the eminent destruction of his apartment in the set of her jaw and took it upon himself to distract her. "Wh-what did he say about the t-tattoo?"

            Taki threw back her head and barked out a sound that was supposed to be laughter. "A convincing replica," she mocked in summary. "An almost original piece of work. Surprising but not impossible to find on a gutter rat."

            It took George a heartbeat to get over his shock. "H-he called you a g-gutter rat?"

            Taki simply glared out the window and nodded.

            "I'll rip h-his arms off," the musician promised.

            Taki almost laughed at her friend's protective streak. "Oh, George." She said it on a half-laugh, half-sigh that rapidly funneled downward into depression. She lifted liquid, dark eyes to his dear, familiar face. "I just want to know where I come from. Where I belong. You know, the essentials. I don't care where, particularly, just as long as it's real." She dragged a deep breath in. It was a useless attempt to stop her tears. "And for two days, I was so close..."

            George watched her distress, feeling helpless. Her dark eyes shimmered with the pain some pompous jerk's thoughtless remarks had caused. "Come here," he crooned, unable to simply watch her throat work as she tried to swallow the lump of rage and hurt that was too large to go down. He didn't wait for her to turn; he simply herded her into his beefy arms. She didn't wail or ball or sniffle, but he could feel her tears as they soaked through the cotton of his white T-shirt.

            "H-he's an ass," George murmured. "Or maybe h-he's afraid of the p-possibility. Regardless, you shouldn't let it b-bother you."

            And there was the root of the problem. Taki squeezed her eyes shut and ground her teeth together. _Why_ was this bothering her? _Why_ hadn't her faith in Heero's investigative abilities made her simply laugh in Wufei Chang's arrogant face? She trusted Heero more than some two-week-old acquaintance. So, his words should have bounced right off. Like bullets off of Superman. Or at least good, creative, innovative ideas off of an art critic. But that hadn't happened; his words shouldn't bother her, but they did. And _that_ was the most upsetting thing about the entire experience.

            Before she could so much as consider blowing her nose in George's cotton-clothed armpit, the apartment's doorbell chimed. Its merry announcement rang cheaply in the emotionally charged air. George swore. "I'm s-sorry. That's probably Hugh. If I don't get this, the band may not get offered another gig for a l-long time."

            Taki leaned away and smiled. "I'm okay now. Don't worry 'bout me."

            But he was worried. In fact, deep down, he was positively murderous. How dare that pip squeak hurt his Taki. Of course, she'd rip his earring out if she ever discovered that he always thought of her as "his Taki." Still, the situation was this: some asshole had hurt her. George wanted blood. The disassemblage of major organs and body parts. The permanent disruption of reproductive functions. He wiped a single, lingering tear away from her smooth skin with his knuckle while his other hand clenched into a fist at his side. What he wouldn't give to have Wufei on the other side of that door right now... What he wouldn't give to remember which of those five men had been named Wufei... He visualized opening the door and discovering Wufei—whoever he was—on the other side... But, of course, it was only Hugh.

            Reluctantly, he left her and crossed the open living room to the area designated by a coat rack as the foyer. With a sigh, George opened the door.

            And scowled. It was one of the young men who'd been looking for Heero a few days ago. "Yes?" he inquired, his mind working to place a name with the face.

            "I'm looking for Taki."

            Out of the corner of his eye, George saw her turn at the sound of the visitor's voice. The expression on her face was non-existent. In a monotone that would have done Heero proud, she quipped, "One gutter rat present."

            The visitor blinked in what might have been a wince.

            A beat of uncomfortable silence ensued before Taki finally demanded, "What do you want now, Chang? Come by to finish the job? Bring the tar and feathers with you?"

            George's dark eyes narrowed on their visitor. In a sudden flash of insight, George finally placed him. "Wufei Chang," he growled.

            Before Wufei could do more than turn at the sound of his name, George had sent his fist on a collision course with the unfortunate intruder.

**.**

**~End of Chapter 13~**

**Author's Note: **The song Yokaze sings is "Ice Cream" by Sarah McLachlan.


	16. Chapter 14: Chances and Paybacks

**The Perfect Soldier**

**Chapter 14: Chances and Paybacks**

. ****

**_            "Geez, George!"_**

            The exclamation seemed to echo in the silence left in the wake of the distinct sound of a fist connecting with human flesh. In the golden, serene, afternoon light of the colony, Taki stared dumbstruck at the hulking musician who stood aggressively over the bleeding figure of Wufei Chang.

            With a blink, Taki recovered and took in the bulging muscles in George's arms. "You've been working out. That's some arm you've got."

            Her compliment flustered him and a slow blush burned at his ears. Around a sheepish grin he managed to stutter, "Th-thanks, T-taki."

            Her dark eyes traveled downward again to where Wufei had crumpled. "Why'd you hit him?" she asked, beginning to feel like she'd been cheated out of the pleasure.

            George smiled, albeit a bit nervously as he sensed her change in mood. "T-to k-keep you from breaking one of m-my guitars over h-his h-head."

            Taki chuckled, her eyes not leaving Wufei. George's gaze followed hers and silently assessed the damage. "I'd say h-he's in prime condition for receiving h-his p-payback. Wh-what do you say, T-taki?"

            She couldn't help herself. She laughed. In fact, she was still chuckling when she called Heero and told her to boogie her butt over to George's. No doubt, as soon as Heero saw what had been so amusing, she'd tie Taki up and throw her in the loony bin. But until then, she could have a good laugh. Or two.

            And, boy oh boy, did it feel good.

**.**

**            They debated moving** him. With a glance at George's rippling biceps, she argued that it wasn't a good idea; Wufei might have a neck injury. Plus, she didn't want to make the jerk too comfortable and the chances were that he'd feel worse if he spent the night on the wood floor. But George was adamant. Hugh could _not_ see a bleeding, unconscious man in George's foyer. It would be bad for the band for sure. So Wufei was moved, but not without a good amount of grumbling on Taki's part. 

            Hugh arrived before the blood on the floor could be dealt with and Taki had to stand on it and use a lot of hand gestures to keep the new visitor from looking down. But, by the time he'd decided to leave, Prometheus had another gig at The Red Eye and at a second club called the Soaring Cactus.

            "Soaring Cactus?" Taki said, incredulous. "I don't think they could have thought of a more ridiculous name if they'd held auditions."

            "You sh-should see their logo."

            She imagined a red-caped saguaro in a super-man pose and shuddered. Taki was saved from dwelling on the concept by the second wave of visitors. Heero walked in, followed closely by Duo who had insisted on accompanying her. She glanced down at the blood Taki was still standing in and her gaze flicked to George's raw knuckles.

            "H-he's in there," the musician replied to the silent question in Heero's eyes.

            She followed the direction of his nod until she saw the guestroom door. "He's alive?" she asked.

            "For the moment," Taki told her. "But, the night is still young; I may reverse my decision."

            Heero grunted. "What happened?"

            George shifted uncomfortably under the weight of her expectant stare. The artist/ex-wealth-redistributor/gutter rat came to his rescue. "Oh, the usual. You know. I was complaining about the other night to George and then he got all primal and stuff on my behalf. You know, some people have a really bad sense of timing. So what are you doing here, Duo?"

            He looked at Yokaze as he spoke. "I promised Heero I'd... give Yokaze a hand if she needed anything." He held up the canvas bag Yokaze had grabbed before leaving her place.

            "Uh huh." Taki didn't buy it. Neither did Yokaze/Heero if her wry expression was any indication of her thoughts.

            Duo ignored them and also tried to ignore the foreboding that rolled over him. "Whose blood is that?"

            Taki realized that she was still standing in the midst of at least one type of body fluids. She grimaced and decided to take her shoes off there rather than track the stuff all over the floor.

            "A little salt water will clean that up," Yokaze volunteered.

            Taki rolled her eyes. "Is there anything you don't know?"

            "Yes."

            "What?"

            "I don't know."

            Taki blinked. Yokaze took the opportunity to collect her duffle bag from Duo.

            "Can I help?" he offered.

            "No." With that, she strode into the guestroom and shut the door.

            "Well, the great Heero has spoken." 

            Duo nodded at Taki's comment. "God help us if they really are siblings."

            "Us?" Taki laughed. "The _universe._"

            George coughed discreetly. "C-coffee, anyone?"

            "I'll take one," Duo replied, feeling the strain of trying to tail Yokaze over the last few days begin to set in. He was about ready to give up on his promise to Heero but he knew that he wouldn't. Couldn't. He'd seen the secret hope in those cobalt eyes. Yokaze was becoming important to Heero on more than one level. Duo couldn't allow himself to fail.

            For a few moments after George had disappeared into the kitchen, Taki studied Duo's drawn features. He looked as if he'd forgotten how to sleep. For at least three days. It was obvious to her that he needed some quality rest, but if the set of his shoulders meant anything it was that he had no such plans in the near future.

            "So," Taki drawled, "why are you really _helping_ Heero, er, Yokaze?"

            Duo's violet eyes snapped up and he winced as if he'd been caught in the act of thinking that same thing. He sighed, feeling his exhaustion weigh on him. "I promised Heero."

            "How come Heero's not doing it himself, then?"

            The violet-eyed young man ran a hand through his bangs before stuffing both of his hands in his pants pockets. "He took off a few days ago."

            "And he asked you to keep an eye on Yokaze," Taki summarized. "Any particular reason or is he a control freak by nature?"

            A small, affectionate smile curved his mouth. "He's a control freak, but he's never really trusted anyone else to take care of something for him. At least, not before." His brow beetled as he tried to sort out the words to describe the situation. "I've recently acquired a sibling," he informed her. "Her name is Bisho, and, according to Yokaze, she sort of found her by accident. So, I'm beginning to understand what Heero must be feeling. For so many years, you live alone, answering to no one except the missions. That's everything for you. And then, the war is over and there are no more missions. And you start to feel lost, useless. Then, suddenly, you discover that you're not alone, that your life does matter to someone else, that you can't do whatever you want with it anymore." Duo sighed. "It's hard. And, I imagine that Heero's got a lot left to resolve before he can even start to deal with Yokaze's existence."

            Taki absorbed all of this in silence, all the while thanking her lucky star (or, more likely, black hole) that Heero hadn't handed her a sibling to deal with. Nope. Just and arrogant jerk. God. Of all the people who'd belonged to the Dragon Clan why had _he_ been the only one to survive its destruction? Fate must have a seriously sick sense of humor. That was the only explanation.

            "So, what's your sister like? I honestly can't picture her."

            Duo cocked his head to one side, still gazing out the bay window Taki had stood at not so long ago. "She looks like me," he admitted with a trace of pride in his voice. "And she's impossible, stubborn, swears all the time, likes to tell me where I can shove my concerns for her well being."

            Taki bit back a smile. "How old is she?"

            "Thirteen or so."

            "Well, I'm glad I didn't know you when _you_ were thirteen or so."

            He rolled his eyes and grinned. "Oh, I was _worse._"

            Taki believed him. "How did you meet her?"

            "Oh, man. You shoulda been there. I was on my hands and knees raiding Yokaze's fridge and then she just barges into the kitchen and demands to know what Quatre and I are doing there."

            "Was Yokaze around?"

            "No, but she walked in just when Bisho was going to bolt for the front door." He shook his head. "How she managed to talk Bisho into staying for another week, I'll never know. But what I wouldn't give for her secret."

            "You and me, both." Taki's mind lingered over the word "secret." "Do you know how long I've known Heero? Four years. And over the past three weeks, I've begun to see that I never really knew her at all. She never told me about working for OZ or about being a gundam pilot prototype. And she sure as hell never said anything about 'missions' involving reuniting people with their pasts. I'm still pissed about that."

            They were silent for a moment, studying the computer-programmed darkness outside. "Well," Duo said at long last, "can either of us expect any different from the perfect soldier?"

            Taki glanced at him. There was no mockery in his tone, no censure in his eyes. In fact, if she wasn't mistaken, that affectionate look was back in his gaze and smile.

            "No," she admitted. "I suppose normal human behavior is an impossible expectation."

            George, having heard only the last two comments, came up behind the conversing pair and stated, "There's nothing w-wrong w-with my H-heero."

            Taki started. "Dammit George. You weigh over two hundred pounds, can't you manage to make some noise when you walk around?"

            George ignored her and handed Duo his coffee. Just then, the guestroom door opened and Yokaze emerged with a handful of bloody rags. Her flat stare traveled to George.

            "Congratulations," she intoned flatly. "You somehow managed to not break his nose."

            George looked shocked.

            Taki snickered. "Guess you can't put a notch in your gun belt for this one. Although, I can't say it surprises me. I knew he had a thick skull the moment I saw him."

            "I'm glad I h-hit h-him. My guitar w-wouldn't h-have survived."

            Yokaze looked squarely at Taki. "Payback?"

            "That? Oh, no. That was just George all pissed."

            She didn't seem surprised. "What's it to be?"

            "Shall I g-get the w-women's lingerie?" George looked hopeful.

            Taki shook her head. "No. That's something you do to drunk people because you can. I have something more devious and useful in mind."

            George made a mental note not to get drunk in Taki's presence. Ever. "W-what's the payback?"

            Taki grinned. "Well, ever since our... discussion the other day I've been experiencing the undeniable inspiration to draw. The human figure. The nude human figure. For many, many, many, many hours."

            Yokaze's eyes sparkled. "Then it's a good thing I'm taking his clothes back to my apartment with me."

            George turned to Yokaze with a desperate expression he couldn't quite hide. "C-can I s-stay at y-your place for a few d-days?"

            Duo's gaze dropped to the articles of clothing draped over the middle of the duffle. He recognized them instantly. _"Wufei's in that room?"_

            Three pairs of eyes watched Duo rush to the guestroom door.

            "He figured that out a lot faster than I thought he would," Taki noted.

            "Well," Yokaze observed, "he _was_ a gundam pilot." She looked at George. "Pack your stuff."

            "Right." George marched off to collect as many articles of clothing as possible. Who knew how long he'd have to bunk at Yokaze's. He eyed his music equipment but only selected his favorite guitar. Yokaze's studio on the fourth floor of her apartment building could rival a professional recording studio.

            "Whatcha gonna do with his clothes?"

            "Wash them, of course."

            "Of course. And then?"

            "Dry them."

            "Uh huh?"

            "On the hottest setting."

            Taki grinned. Yokaze's dryer was lethal at shrinking clothes.

            "I'll send some replacements."

            Taki's eyebrows went up.

            "But it'll take at least all day tomorrow to find something, I expect."

            Taki grinned. "Sounds good."

            Duo emerged from the guestroom on that note shaking his head. "Oh man, I can't wait to tell everybody." Taki could tell he was plotting his delivery already. "What did he get hit with?"

            "Four knuckles."

            He chuckled. At last, something had happened to make this Yokaze-watch worth the lack of sleep.

            George emerged carrying two bulging duffles. "I c-cleaned out my c-closets, T-taki. The place is all y-yours."

            She grinned. Wufei's clothing options were now limited to a sheet, a blanket, and a towel. "George, you're such a great friend."

            He grinned back, thinking of the pink, fuzzy bathrobe he kept in the bathroom for guests. It was still hanging on its peg. He said, "I know."

**.**

**            "But, Master Quatre,** your presence is essential," Rashid pleaded. "Please promise you'll be home in time for the annual celebration."

            Quatre sighed. "I wish I could make that promise, Rashid. But I simply can't leave yet."

            "Well, perhaps we can postpone the celebration for a few days. Can you estimate when you'll be coming home?" Rashid was nearly frantic with worry and it showed. The Winner family had always sponsored a holiday to commemorate the first wave of colonists to arrive in L4 region. How would it look if the Winner heir wasn't present on that fateful day? Rashid knew exactly how it would look: like a disaster.

            "I'm sorry. I can't do that either." He swallowed, hating the next words he had to say. "Can one of my sisters conduct the ceremony? I know they're all terribly busy, but..."

            Rashid nodded. "I can make some inquiries, Master Quatre."

            "Thanks, Rashid."

            There was an awkward pause over the communicator and both parties stared at each other on the screen. "How are things there?" Rashid finally asked.

            Quatre thought back over the blur that was the past few weeks. So much had happened, and he had the feeling that so much more was yet to come. So many lives had been turned upside down by this mysterious double. He had seen something in Duo's eyes whenever his violet-eyed friend looked at Heero, something that had not been there ten months ago, or even three weeks ago. It was the same with Wufei; the unguarded glances he'd sent Taki's way when her back was turned had not escaped Quatre, either.

            And then there was Trowa, his main reason for staying behind. Although he knew Trowa would never come to him for anything, Quatre could see the changes he was struggling with. The emotions that were slowly growing stronger and more frequent. Quatre feared the most for him.  Trowa was finally breaking out of his prison of silence and so easily the world beyond those walls could crush him. Quatre was well aware that no one else ever looked at Trowa and saw someone fragile, someone in need of being protected. That was why he had to stay. It was a well known fact that what goes up must come down, and he hoped he was wrong, but he couldn't shake the feeling that the emotional roller coaster all of them had been riding for the past weeks was about to take a sudden plunge.

            "Master Quatre?"

            He shook himself. "I'm sorry, Rashid. Things are still rather hectic here."

            "I see," he replied, his gaze thoughtful once more. "Master Quatre, if you have need of us, only say the word."

            Quatre smiled. "Thank you, Rashid."

            Rashid nodded once and then the transmission terminated.

            Quatre sat back in the chair and considered his situation. Honestly, he ought to return. The colony was his first obligation. However, he simply couldn't leave Trowa. Not until the issue of Yokaze was resolved. Quatre frowned. He'd noticed something changing in Trowa's usually flat gaze as well. And it always happened when Yokaze entered the room.

            Immediately, Quatre recalled her in black leather and blushed. _That_ had gotten a reaction out of everyone.

            Quatre looked up as a soft thump in the other room reached his ears. The sound must have come from Bisho's quarters. He turned off the screen in Yokaze's office and wandered next door. As expected, the door was closed. But, he thought he heard the muffled sound of weeping coming from the other side. He hesitated only for a moment, aware that he'd only seen Bisho a handful of times and that he was a total stranger to her.

            "Bisho?" he called softly.

            There was a pause and then a sniff. "Go away!"

            She was crying; he could hear the pain and tears in her voice. He opened the door. "It's Quatre. Can I get you anything?"

            "Yes. Leave me alone."

            She was sitting on the floor beneath the open window. The curtains waved gently in the night wind above her. He took in the clean clothes she'd struggled into and the pillowcase at her side. She cradled her ribs with her arms, tears streaming down her face. Her violet eyes glared defiance at him and her honey-brown hair had come partially undone from its braid. She was chaos personified and Quatre was compelled to go to her despite her insistence to the contrary.

            "Do you have a hearing problem?" she demanded, tears turning her eyes to shimmering, dark liquid.

            Quatre shook his head and sat down across from her on the floor. "What's wrong?"

            There was no response to his gentle inquiry.

            "You were leaving. Why?"

            She glared at him.

            "Duo would be frantic with worry if you left," he pointed out softly.

            "Yeah?" she challenged. "Well, it's better for everyone that I go. He'd see that eventually."

            "What?" Quatre was shocked. "Better for everyone? What about you?"

            "I can get by on my own."

            "But you don't have to," he replied softly. He watched as she turned her face away, her throat working. "Think of Duo. He's been alone for so long. You'd hurt him terribly if you left."

            "I _am_ thinking of Duo," she croaked out. "He's safer if I leave."

            Quatre blinked. "Safer? Duo fought in the war. He's very good at taking care of himself."

            "Yeah, taking care of _himself_, not himself and a kid."

            There was something to what she said, and there was more pain buried in those words than she'd ever willingly admit to. "Why not give him a chance?"

            She shook her head. "A chance turns into a month, then a year, and then longer. Pretty soon..." She hiccupped. "Somebody... loses."

            Quatre's blue, blue eyes moved over her, compassion flooding out of him. After a long pause, he gently asked, "Who lost?"

            He watched as the tears came harder and harder until she was sobbing. He felt his own eyes prick with the heat of tears and he opened his arms. She fell into him. Bisho gave herself to the comfort of a compassionate stranger rather than burden Yokaze, her hostess, or Duo, her brother.

            "Her... her name was... Cera..." She forced out the words until she'd told the entire story. She even told him about that night she'd first met Yokaze. She'd been determined to kill all of the men who had ever used Cera. Determined to extract revenge for her dead friend, mother, and sister. She'd seen one of them enter The Heartbeat and so she'd followed him. She still remembered the sickening feel of his eyes sliding over her. She still felt repulsed at the words she'd used and the ways she'd touched him to convince him that she was ready to take up Cera's trade. Did he want to be the first customer?

            She cried. Even now, she felt dirty and soiled; he'd touched her. She'd let him touch her. And when she would have rammed the knife into his ribs, he'd been so much stronger, knocked it away with a flick of his wrist. And then she'd been helpless, but struggling. And then he'd hit her again and again and again.

            She leaned closer to Quatre. Another strange man. But one who seemed so nice and safe and perfect. Why hadn't she grown up with him? Why had she made Cera care for her? If Cera had been alone, then perhaps she wouldn't have had to sell herself to dirty, diseased men. If Bisho had never existed, Cera would still be alive today. Didn't he see? She had to leave Duo, or he'd die, too. Die because of her. She couldn't loose another person again. Not like that. Not like that.

            Her voice was broken by her sobs and gasps for air, but Quatre understood all of it. There was so much pain and fear inside of her. He tightened his arms around her shoulders and tucked her head under his chin. He found that he couldn't whisper nonsense to her; she needed something real, something to hold on to, something to believe in.

            "Yokaze knows what she's doing. She brought you and Duo together because this was how it was meant to be. Trust Yokaze. Has she ever given you reason not to? Trust Duo. Let him try to be a brother. It won't be easy for either of you, but don't you think both of you deserve the chance to try?"

            She wrapped her arms around the solid figure in front of her. "I want to... to try... and... and I'm... I'm scared."

            With one hand, Quatre stroked her hair. He laid his cheek against the top of her head. "He is, too, Bisho. It's okay to be scared. You have each other. That's what will make everything alright. You'll have each other."

            He could feel her tears through his vest and shirt. Her hands gripped the hem of his vest in what he was sure was white-knuckled desperation. Desperation he had sensed in so many people, people he would never be able to hold like this, comfort like this. He felt something shift inside of him as the girl in his arms held on for dear life. Even though he had dozens of sisters, he'd never held any of them like this, and had only been held himself on a handful of occasions. Especially now, when his life was the colony. There was no time for physical contact. But here, and now, his real life didn't exist. He realized that he needed Bisho in this moment as much as she needed him.

            She sniffed one final time and concentrated on her breathing. Quatre dug an embroidered square of cotton out of his pocket. After a minute, Bisho lifted her head and he wiped away her tears. He held the square to her nose and told her to blow. She did and they both laughed when her nose squeaked loudly. Her eyes were bloodshot with the bitterness of her tears. Her nose was red and her lips swollen from biting back her sobs. But she smiled at him with those violet eyes and Quatre knew he'd do anything she asked of him. She said, "I'm okay now."

            "I'm glad."

           They sat there, Quatre with the wet hanky in one hand and the other tucking stray strands of hair away from her face, Bisho simply watching him, her violet eyes large.

            He said, "Will you stay?"

            She nodded. "Yeah."

            He smiled. She returned his gaze. That was his cue. He moved as if to get up and leave.

            Her hand shot out and her fingers curled around his wrist. Instantly, he froze, concern written over his features.

            "Don't go yet," she rasped. "I don't want to be by myself. I've been by myself for days."

            Quatre smiled again. "You've been in this room for days, too."

            She gave the room a thorough inspection. "Yeah," she replied. "It's really sucked."

            He laughed. "Okay, then let's go somewhere else." He got up and held out his hand to her. 

            "Like where?" She winced as she pulled herself up from the floor with his help.

            "Like an exotic land where your every worry is instantly obliterated."

            She gave him a speculative look. "There's no such place."

            "Of course there is."

            "Fine. Then what's it called?"

            Quatre gave her a conspiratorial grin. "The kitchen."

            Five minutes later, he was sitting across from Bisho at Yokaze's table. Both had bowls of chocolate ice cream. His gaze moved over her as she savored the dessert. Her nose was still red, her eyes still bloodshot, and now there was a growing ring of chocolate around her swollen mouth. In short, she looked like hell.

            Quatre had never seen anything more beautiful in his life.

. ****

**_            Ah, so this _**_is misery_, Wufei mused as he came to. He wallowed in the rush of pain as it overwhelmed him. He frowned at it, but the action only sent more darts of pain slicing through his brain. What had happened?

            For a solid minute, he remained still, his eyes closed, his memory working. Ah, yes, he remembered now. He'd come to see Taki. To apologize. His mouth turned down at the corners as he replayed George answering the door, Taki's clipped words, and then George saying his name. And then a fist moving through the air too fast and too close to avoid.

_            George_. Wufei almost growled. What had he done to provoke the man? His mind drew a blank. As he lay there, thinking, soft sounds filtered through his awareness. Someone was pouring something, and now stirring. The musical tink of a spoon against porcelain continued for a bit longer. Someone was sitting beside him. He was in a bed with the blanket tucked up to his chin.

            And then he digested one final, important piece of information.

            He was naked.

            Wufei opened his eyes. He said nothing as he took in the sight of Taki leaning over a tea set, a can of hot chocolate mix on the tray with two cups, a pitcher, and a bowl. His black eyes moved slowly over her hair where it was tucked behind her ear and feathered against her neck. As if she sensed his gaze, she glanced over her shoulder at him and held up a mug. She smiled, an expression that promised unpleasant things in his future.

            With saccharine sweetness, she inquired politely, "Marshmallow?"

            Wufei eyed the mug with growing dread. The apartment was silent. And he was naked. And then he saw the _stacks_ of unopened sketch pads and tubes of pencil lead. Behind her, there was an easel with a canvas, paint, and various other supplies. His dread increased and he revised his original thought about misery. Somehow, he was sure that the worst was yet to come.

**.**

**            So this was it. **

            Heero studied the perfectly normal-looking home nestled in C181's suburbs. His gaze flicked to the neat, black numbers posted next to the door. The address matched. Still, it was not without a good deal of unease that Heero contemplated ringing the doorbell.

            At worst, he would ring the bell and his quarry would not be there. Then he would simply have to consult his laptop once more for clues. At best, everything would go as planned. But was that what Heero really wanted? The answers he hoped to gain were such that they would change his life forever upon hearing them. If the truth was that he was no longer alone in this world, then he would begin to feel emotions—dangerous emotions—that could never be unfelt, erased, forgotten.

            He thought of Yokaze and recalled her silent humor when Duo had been unable to tell the two of them apart.

_            Can't you two wear name tags or something?_

            There had been something on the other side of Duo's violet eyes that Heero had tried not to see. Now, as he stood on the threshold of a new life, they filled his awareness. In that moment, Heero realized that what he had seen was caring.

            Duo _cared_.

            Heero froze, shocked by the revelation, rejecting it automatically. He shook himself. He was mistaken. It was the dream again, influencing his ability to infer accurately.

            He lifted his hand and rang the bell. A minute passed without a sound being made inside the residence. He rang the bell a second time. It was then that he saw the discreetly placed video camera pointing toward the welcome mat Heero was standing on. No sooner had his gaze been electronically transferred to a screen elsewhere in the house, than a small key pad was revealed by a sliding panel. He placed his right thumb on the pad and entered the code for his name. A small green light scanned his flesh and then beeped softly. The equipment retracted into the wall beside the doorbell. By now, Heero was reasonably sure that he had the correct address.

            The front door clicked as it opened and Heero stepped inside. There was no one in the foyer. He glanced to his right where the kitchen opened up, and then to his left where the living room stretched out. He could see no one. In fact, he could detect no signs of anyone actually living in the house at all. He frowned and started to head further into the house, but then the television monitor in the living room clicked on and presented a rectangle of static. Curious, Heero moved closer. After a moment, an image collected on the screen. It was a figure. A man.

            Heero moved even closer as he identified his quarry. "Doctor," he said.

            Dr. J grinned from his true location. "Heero! How have you been? How do you like my arrangement there?"

            Heero nodded. "Impressive."

            The doctor grinned. "So, what's on your mind, young man?"

            Heero stared at the screen. "I came to ask you a few questions."

            "Oh? What about?"

            Heero didn't so much as blink. It was vital that he catch every bit of the doctor's first reaction. "Zero-one."

            "Ah, yes," the doctor replied slowly, leaning back in his chair. "I take it you've met?"

            "Aa."

            "How is Zero-one?"

            Heero shrugged. "Fine."

            "Good, good." The doctor smiled. "I'd hoped that she'd survived the war." He transferred his attention to Heero once more and considered him. "You must have been a bit surprised. How did you two find each other?"

            "It's a long story."

            "And you don't have time for talk," Dr. J summarized. "All right. What do you want to know?"

            "Everything."

            "Now_ that's_ a long story."

            Heero nodded.

            Dr. J sighed, took a deep breath, and began. "She was brought to us by a mercenary. He'd heard that the organization was looking for exceptionally talented children, children talented in military tactics. The fact that she was a girl was a minor disadvantage. But, she was also very young, perhaps six or so years old. None of us had ever worked with a child that young before. But, the organization decided to begin to test the new training programs on her. It was vital that we understand what the long-term effects might be. From the time she was brought to us until nearly five years later, she was our primary test subject. In fact, it was her flight simulation data that you fought against in your early training, Heero."

            Dr. J took another slow breath and continued. "She was approximately eleven years old when you came to us. We'd had a lot of children come and go through our doors, but your remarkable resemblance to Zero-one guaranteed you a place in the organization with her.

            "It was decided that through reconstructive and cosmetic surgery and hormone treatment, Zero-one could conceivably be your double. Nearly two years later, most of their work had been done. And she was your double. It was then that the plan was detailed to the rest of us. The two of you were to be trained to act as one person, similar to how identical twins are treated as if they are one person when they're children. This was necessary for the creation of the prefect soldier. Two of you would strike in different locations at the same time. Even I could see it was a brilliant, if immoral idea. Somehow, Zero-one must have discovered the plot. And she fled.

            "That had surprised everyone except me. I had always known that we'd trained her too well, tested too many programs with her. She could have left at any time. But, I think she stayed for you. The fact that she'd left without taking you with her had surprised me. It still does. I don't suppose she's mentioned anything about that?"

            Heero shook his head.

            "Well, that's the story. But, you look like you've heard it all before."

            "Aa."

            "And now you have questions."

            "Aa." Heero took a breath and selected his first and most important inquiry. "Is Zero-one my sister?"

**.**

**~End of Chapter 14~**


	17. Chapter 15: The White

**The Perfect Soldier**

**Chapter 15: The White**

**.**

**            She could hear** George in the room across the way. He was trying to dissuade Quatre from charging to Wufei's rescue. Apparently, after hearing Duo's relation of the evening's violent events, Quatre was determined to assist the somewhat less-than-sterling fellow.

            In the privacy of her private studio, Zero-one allowed herself a smile. If George's persuasion failed, she had no doubt that Quatre would be bound and gagged and locked away for his own safety. She knew that the moment Taki saw Quatre, she would look from him to Wufei and think "Contrasting nudes!" And then neither male would be seen or heard from for weeks. She could leave Wufei to that fate, but Quatre was an innocent bystander.

            Zero-one fingered the bass guitar in her hands, her calloused fingers tapping woodenly against the strings. The amp was off, but the weak notes seemed to resonate in the silence of Quatre's deliberation. 

            And then she heard George again, making an effort to distract the other musician. Would Quatre care to try this music? George had just written it the night before. Perhaps Quatre could give him an objective opinion? Could Duo shut the door? Heero was practicing across the hall. The door clicked shut, saving Quatre from the hell of modeling to feed Taki's insatiable creativity.

            Zero-one ticked off the notes in a distraction. She'd been composing this piece for weeks. Usually, she finished a work in a handful of days, but her life was rather hectic of late. Although she didn't have to write the tune down in order to repeat her original performance accurately, each note was recorded for Loque, Prometheus's regular bassist. Loque was talented and driven, seeking to better Zero-one at every turn. In the spirit of friendly competition, they each composed a challenging composition with the aim of forcing the other to sight-read it in a contest that distinguished the bassist with the best eyes, hands, and skill.

            Zero-one had yet to lose.

            However, their last challenge had been nearly a month ago and her tardiness was driving Loque to distraction. 

            He called her Dragonetti, after Beethoven's good friend and bassist—a bassist of unparalleled skill and fluency.

            Her fingers retraced a bar as she considered the name Loque had given her. As often as she'd been called Dragonetti, Zero-one had never accepted the name. She supposed it was because it had belonged to another. Just as the name "Heero Yuy" belonged to another. And then she thought of the name Trowa had given her. Where the others she had left to come or go as they would, "Yokaze" she was tempted to claim.

            She ignored the hair that fell across her eyes and shook her thoughts aside. Zero-one reached over and flipped the amp's power switch. She adjusted the volume and started at the beginning.

            Her fingers were well into unrecorded territory when he arrived. She knew he was there, leaning against the open door frame behind her; his silence was unmistakable.

            Like a true musician and soldier, he waited until she'd finished, waited until she'd printed the notes across the quintuple, horizontal lines, waited until she'd played it a second time to check the accuracy of the harsh marks that dived across the page. He waited while she considered her writing in silence, reading each slash of ink, seeing each as a moment of her life, frozen.

            As the flashes of memory came to her, her hands moved as if seeking comfort from the instrument. Music was so much more beautiful when it wasn't trapped on paper.

            She closed the notebook and tapped a new theme. It was a promising lick. Later, if she had time, she'd develop it.

            Zero-one killed the amp and restored the guitar to its rest.

            And still, he waited.

            She almost smiled as she remembered a time when she had been incapable of his patience. But then she'd been introduced to the Zero System and only her patience had been able to save her from madness. At the time, she'd been a child, unable and unwilling to anticipate the pain and horror ahead of her. She had to forcibly suppress a shiver as the White came over her.

_            "You know, you're gonna make one mean mom, someday."_

_            "You think so?"_

_            "Abso-damn-lutely. Your kids won't have a chance."_

_            "That is certainly true."_

            Her eyelids flinched as she recalled the conversation. How close to the truth Bisho had been. And how freely she'd spoken her mind as she'd stared at the white sheet in her hands.

            How many white sheets had she slept under, endured surgery under, awoken—changed, having lost another part of herself—under? Dozens? Hundreds? Or had it always been the same square of pristine linen?

_            Your kids won't have a chance_.

            Zero-one's hand reached out for the guitar, a clean rag in her calloused fingers. As she polished the oil from her hands away from the lacquered surface, she replied once again in silence.

_            My children never had a chance._

            Where was the white sheet she'd laid under when the scientists and doctors had taken that from her? Where was the bit of linen fabric that had commemorated her final transition into soldierhood? At last, Zero-one had joined the brotherhood of Death. Never to give life, only to take it. The Perfect Soldier.

            Her hands were gentle, but the wall she wore was more elastic now than ever before, pushed and pulled with the frigid, silent rage at the organization, at its selfishness. Those men of war had taken her past, her name, her dreams, her emotions, her choice, her face, her immortality. They had taken everything they could, everything they'd had no right to. Years later, she still hated—oh yes, that emotion had survived, although she could never show it on her face, with her body, in her voice. It was a hate that had never burned hot and bright. It remained as it had begun, a chill, an icy, deliberate calculation. It was the optimum state of mind for the perfect soldier.

            Slowly, she turned from the killing frost of her thoughts and said, "It's been a week."

            Her gaze alighted on his familiar figure as he nodded. "Aa."

            Zero-one could sense his immediate tension. He was apprehensive. She'd anticipated that but could not combat it. She looked away and told him, "The Zero System was a brilliantly engineered accomplishment. Have you ever piloted it?"

            Her gaze was trained elsewhere, so she missed his non-verbal reply. Which was just as well; she already knew his answer.

            "To master it," she continued, "one must master oneself. I piloted it for years, until I learned its secrets. Until it learned mine. Until nothing was hidden between myself and the system. Until we became one and the same. And yet..." The corner of her mouth twitched. "And _still_, my discipline is nothing if I cannot stop myself from caring if a stranger finds his true home." She turned her head slightly, directing her voice, but her eyes were fixed elsewhere. "Here is your answer, Mr. Barton: I found your past because I could not do otherwise."

            Finally, with her last word, the cobalt gaze lifted, collided, slid into his. Something passed between them in the air born of her resignation and his disbelief. She turned away from it, let it pelt uselessly at the walls. Zero-one told him, "That wasn't what you expected to hear."

            He moved then. He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. The click of the bolt resounded in the silence.

            "And Taki? Why her?"

            Zero-one let his low, mellow voice spill into her ears. "Taki has become a friend. I owe such a service to anyone unfortunate and tenacious enough to willingly call me 'friend.'"

            She listened to him consider this in silence. She followed his mind through the transitions as he evaluated, analyzed, and finally categorized Wufei's revelation as a necessary portion of Taki's.

            "Duo?"

            She could hear the rising emotion in his voice. Any other ear would have heard nothing, but she'd spent a lifetime listening to her own voice, a voice that was never permitted to carry emotion of any kind. Only her eyes were allowed that luxury.

            "A timely accident," she admitted. "I couldn't ignore the opportunity." Her eyes went to him once more, eloquently communicating the utility of every mission with one exception.

_            And he was that single exception._

            The implication slipped loose from between the lines.

            Zero-one felt his emotion build until it surged through the molecules between them.

            He was angry.

            She felt his anger, the useless rage. And she knew the exact moment when he realized the futility of the emotion. Like a vacuum, he turned everything inward with long-practiced ease.

            The molecules settled.

            The door opened and then closed, this time with soft finality.

            Zero-one surveyed the empty room, her gaze seeing, once again, the white sheet.

**.**

**~End of Chapter 15~**


	18. Chapter 16: Unfinished Missions

**The Perfect Soldier**

**Chapter 16: Unfinished Missions **

**.**

**            He knew that** he should get up, leave the room, check on Yokaze, then camp out on the couch until dawn. But Duo Maxwell was too tired to do more than think of the night's tasks that still remained undone. How many days had it been since he'd had a single, uninterrupted night's sleep? He wasn't sure; he was too tired to count.

            Surely, he would be relieved of his vigil soon. Heero must be finishing his quest by now.

            Heero. Duo smiled as he thought of his friend. He was nothing if he did not have a quest, a mission, a goal. He was always seeking, seeking, seeking. Duo wondered if, at last, he would see what was plainly in front of him.

            Duo's dark eyes turned down onto the sleeping figure. The young girl's heart-shaped face, so like his own, was expressive, even deep in dreams. Beneath the nearly translucent skin of her eyelids, violet eyes, identical to his own, twitched to and fro.

           Bisho. His sister. She was a miracle of chance and circumstance. Where only days ago they had been utterly alone, now they had each other. Two strangers who had become siblings.

_            Become siblings._ He rolled the phrase over in his mind. Once, Duo had believed that one was born into and raised with a family. Once, he had believed that there was only one way to gain and retain one's membership in a family. But now, he understood the truth.

            He and Bisho were siblings even though they hadn't been raised together, with the same parents, under the same roof. He was her big brother. And she was his little sister. And it had absolutely nothing to do with DNA.

            In the silence of midnight, he looked in the direction of the window. Although the curtains had been drawn long ago, he imagined the darkened dome beyond, and further out, the eternal night of space itself. He imagined that he saw a star.

_            Understand what I've begun to realize, _he told the night sky inside his eyes.

            Perhaps it was a wish, perhaps a command. He was too exhausted to consider it carefully.

            And as he thought of Heero, he also thought of the promise he'd made. He had to check on Yokaze. He could not fail in this simple task. He had to...

            A figure clad in a pair of jeans and a black turtleneck slumped in the chair beside a sleeping girl's bed and closed his violet eyes.

**.**

**_            "Here is your _**_answer, Mr Barton: I found your past because I could not fail to do otherwise."_

            Deep, inside of him, the words tumbled over and over. In that same, dark place, he shook his head in denial. That could not be the answer. It could not be. Over the days and weeks, he had considered many different, possible replies to his initial question. But all of those had made sense, been backed by logic, by reason, by a soldier's motive. But Yokaze's long-awaited response was none of those things. It was mysterious, mystic, impossible.

            His green eyes narrowed as he sat alone, in the semi-darkness of his trailer. It was midnight and the circus's generators had been shut down long ago to conserve fuel; at this time of the night, if one wanted light, old-fashioned means were the only ones available. A single candle dripped in silence on the single table in the small trailer. The flame danced its sultry, mindless dance with a breeze only it could feel. Twin reflections of the gold-white spark danced across the surface of wary eyes.

            As he studied the flame, he considered its symbolic resemblance to her justification. Who truly understood what fire was? Certainly, it was a chemical reaction, but there was more to it than that, was there not? No matter how many explanations physicists wrote of fire, it remained mysterious, mystic, impossible. It danced its secret dance, sometimes in silence, and sometimes with the voice of a thousand lions. It danced without discretion, sometimes leisurely, and sometimes with the rage of infinite loss.

            He closed his eyes and remembered the impossible: the rage. He had been angry with her. Anger. It was so alien, so foreign, that he hadn't recognized it until it had gripped his entire being. When was the last time he had felt such an emotion and so strongly? He recalled a handful of occasions. Love and caring for Kathy. Concern and friendship for Quatre. But those emotions had accompanied people he had known for a length of time that was considerably longer than the few days he'd known Yokaze. 

            And yet, she had made him angry.

            It was a miracle in and of itself. And he recognized it as one, objectively.

            But, retreating further, into the memory of the anger, he marveled at his first thoughts. Once again, he traced the path of his fury down to a single declaration:

            How dare she care for someone who has been no one his entire life.

            He was nothing. Nothing to care about. Nothing to concern oneself with. And in that nothingness he had found his strength, his freedom.

            But, slowly, over time, he had begun to relinquish that freedom. With others, he had come to share something, some part of living, with them. And that had developed into a kind of caring, of kinship. But he and Yokaze had shared nothing. And yet she professed to care. And her admission had stolen another piece of his freedom away. Why? Why had her words tied him even more fully to this life? To living?

            It was illogical.

            Irrational.

            What connection did they share that would give her such an influence?

            And then, in the following, waiting silence, he realized the one, true thing they _did_ share:

_            No name._

            But no, she had given his back to him. Out of caring for a stranger.

            And yet she remained, nameless.

            His hands fisted as a fresh wave of anger poured through him. It was clear to him that the only way for him to repay her was to do the same for her.

            He must give her a name.

            But he already had: Yokaze, the night wind.

            But he had not given it to her out of caring. He had given it out of awe, of respect. And therein existed the source of his anger. To repay her, he must _care for her_.

            It was impossible.

            How dare she demand this of him, who, for so long, had been no one, nothing?

            How dare she drag him into a new world of emotions, of pain, of possibility?

            How dare she?

            But she _had _dared.

            He opened his eyes and stared at the flame as it danced on the thin string. Danced its silent, secret dance with an invisible breeze. So similar to and yet so different from the dance of a silent, young man and the night wind.

**. **

**            The programmed, late** afternoon light washed the L1 colony in golden light and green shadow. In the more romantic atmosphere, the dinginess of unkempt buildings and littered streets was easily overlooked. Once, this place had been as sparkling new as a freshly painted doll-house. But time, and the weight all things artificial bear—the weight of constantly striving to be identical to the real—had traveled roughly through this place. Where once a clean, straight billboard had announced itself, there now remained a sagging shadow. It was the same with all things here. Even the mail box squatting on the street corner had succumbed and its layers of paint were peeling away in scale-like chunks. 

            Heero Yuy examined all of this. Cobalt eyes took careful note of the changes that had taken place since his last return. And now, he had come for his final visit. The past few days' events had convinced him that there was no other course to take. No where else to go. He was destined to return here. One last time. For the only mission left unfinished.

            Dark eyes narrowed, hands buried in jacket pockets, Heero Yuy stepped off of the abandoned street corner determined to complete this one, remaining task.

**.**

**~End of Chapter 16~**


	19. Chapter 17: Breathless

**The Perfect Soldier**

**Chapter 17: Breathless**

**.**

**            The red-gold **glow of the colony's atmosphere spilled into the silence. It slipped through the open blinds and curtains on a singular mission. It cascaded down upon the curve of a young man's face, purring across his eyelids. It called to him, drawing him out from the black abyss of dreamless slumber. His body resisted. He was so very tired. Exhausted. And he was sluggish. Which was odd. Normally, he awoke instantly and could not return to his dreams if his life depended on it.

            He contemplated this odd behavior as the fading light teased his sight. He wanted to open his eyes, but how could he when his eyelids had been sown together while he slept? 

            As the false warmth of the colony light called to him, he turned his attention to the comfort of the bed he was in. But then, as the shadows slowly consumed the room, the young man began to fight through the gauze that cradled his brain in sleep. Slowly, a pair of violet eyes blinked open.

            Duo didn't try to move. His body felt as if he'd received a blood transplant of lead. But he could move his gaze around the room. What he saw of his surroundings was strange. He was in Yokaze's home, but he wasn't in his room. His sleepy stare traveled over the blinds on the window, the tawny drapes, the oak chest of drawers, until he reached the woven blanket beneath his right hand. In a sudden flash, the knowledge surged through the gray fog in his skull.

            He was in Yokaze's room.

            Duo frowned. This wasn't right. He didn't remember coming in here. He'd gone to say good night to Bisho, but she'd already fallen asleep. And as he'd looked at her, he'd felt the weight of all the sleepless nights pull him down into the chair beside her bed. To say that following Yokaze had been unpleasant would be a severe understatement. The woman never slept. Although, if Duo was honest with himself he would have admitted that seeing Wufei after he'd been delivered his just desserts made the entire ordeal worth any amount of lost sleep. Duo smiled and closed his eyes. Immediately, he felt the dark, gripping hands of unconsciousness urge him down, down—

            He felt the thick fog reach over him, warm and smooth, making his thoughts stumble. What had he been thinking about? Had it been important? Why couldn't he remember?

            He reached for his forehead as an insistent pounding started drumming between his temples. It took a great deal of determination for him to get his arm to move. 

            What had happened to him? Was he ill? He didn't think so. In fact, the only other time he'd felt like this was when he'd crashed a mobile suit and cracked about half of his ribs. It had hurt like hell to breathe so G's physicians had given him enough sedatives to subdue a herd of stampeding elephants.

            His eyes snapped open.

            He groaned in the perfect silence. What had he been thinking, accepting the cup of coffee she'd given him the night before? Or the vitamins? Had they been vitamins? Had she really been concerned for his health? What was all that bunk about being concerned for his T-cells?

            Ah, yes. _"If you get sick, how can you keep follow—er, helping me?" _she'd reasoned in her toneless voice.

            Chanting every expletive he'd ever heard, Duo forced his limbs to move toward the edge of the bed. He knew she was gone, that she'd left him in the one room where no one would look for him. He had to find a clock. He had to know how much time he had lost and how much time he had left before Heero killed him.

**.**

**            "Gone?"**

            The single syllable echoed in the chill of night. The colony's fans were mysteriously silent, as if the entire station were holding its breath in an anticipation similar to that before a great storm. Duo shivered in the night air; he heard the storm in Trowa's soft but dangerous voice. It was a sound that Maxwell had never heard from him before. Even in the beginning, when the green-eyed pilot had been as frigid as the Arctic Circle, he had never spoken like this. 

            Of all the people Duo would ask to help him locate the missing Yokaze, he had counted on Trowa's cool, dispassionate nature to be the most logical and thorough. He could see now that he'd made a gross error in judgment. And he hadn't even seen it coming. Had he missed the warnings? But how could that have happened? There was an icy rage inside of Trowa that should have been impossible to miss. 

            Wishing he'd brought a coat with him, Duo crossed his arms over his chest in a protective gesture. A full minute of silence had come and gone. Still there was no wind. No breath. All that seemed to exist in the vacuum was the insistent pull of a pair of green eyes that demanded an explanation.

            Duo took note of the critical appraisal Kathy was giving her coworker. Obviously, she was putting two and two together. That boded even more bad news for Duo. Whatever had caused the rage that was only now manifesting had done its damage some time ago; Kathy wasn't even remotely surprised by the intensity in Trowa's voice, it was as if she'd been expecting it or something very similar for some time now. How had he missed it?

            Oh yes, he'd been a walking coma patient for the last three days and unconscious for the last eighteen hours. He tried not to wince at the vivid, brutal truth. 

            Reluctantly, Duo explained the unanticipated sequence of events that had transpired the night before. Although Trowa's lack of expression never altered, he could feel the icy tension that poured off of him in tidal waves. 

            "Where have you looked?" Again that calculation, that chill.

            Duo shook his head. "This is our first stop. If you haven't seen her—"

            Kathy shook her head.

            "Then we're off to check with Taki." Duo glanced at his companion, George. The two men shared a look of reservation. They had a good idea of what awaited them at George's apartment, and, under normal circumstances, they never would have considered venturing near the place. But this was an emergency.

            Duo sighed and turned to leave. Behind him, George stuttered an apology and wished Kathy a good evening. Duo didn't hear her reply, if she made one. He was too busy trying to stay more than an arm's length away from Trowa. 

            The man had been pushed beyond the normal bounds of rage by Yokaze's latest stunt. And the why of it was driving Duo nuts. Still, he wasn't about to ask. If anyone had the right to rip his head off, it was Heero. Unfortunately, Duo did have to ask Trowa one very important question.

            "Uh, do you have any clothes Wufei can borrow?"

**.**

**            Wufei eyed the **Exacto knife in Taki's right hand and the metal T-square in her left. Both were industrial strength. He lifted his black gaze to study her bent head as she carefully resized a sheet of cold-press watercolor paper. He could feel the cold, dry paper in his hand, the letter he'd just finished reading. For a long time, he had suspected, but now it was confirmed. And he owed it to both them to reveal the truth. He opened his mouth to speak but before he'd formed a single word, she raised her dark eyes to him. Slowly, from the black boots on his feet, up the butter-soft black leather that seemed to accentuate the muscles of his thighs, over the bare skin of his chest, across his jugular vein, and finally, caressing his mouth. Instantly, his noble intentions were forgotten as something hot boiled to life in his veins. Irritation.

            She read his disgruntlement and grinned. "If you don't like the clothes Heero sent over, there's always the pink bathrobe."

            Wufei scowled. The woman was pure evil. How dare she grin at his discomfort. Her careless dismissal of his embarrassment was enough to make him want to charge out of the apartment and never mind the horrifying selection of clothing he was limited to.

            However, if Wufei were honest with himself, he would have been forced to grudgingly admit the gradual admiration he'd been collecting for her spirit, her determination, and her skill as an artist. Even without formal schooling, she had managed to surpass every modern artist he could name. Had Wufei been honest with himself, he would have seen that strength and recognized it as the same strength he, himself, possessed. But, the reality of the situation was that he was practically a prisoner in this apartment. Trapped in the most cunning and cruel way possible: by the lack of clothes for a dignified escape.

            He was still simmering over that when, of all things, she started to hum. His natural reserve snapped instantly. He was tired of reacting. Tired of being manhandled by this... this female. In a rash move, he declared in stubborn silence that this ended here and now. He had not been able to distract her with words, with glares, or threats. But there was one thing he hadn't tried that was bound to be effective.

            He crossed the room. The letter fluttered forgotten to the floor. The thump of his boots announced his movement and she glanced up to appreciate the figure in motion. It never occurred to her to think of anything beyond aesthetically appreciating his body. The possibility that she might be in danger still hadn't occurred to her when he reached for her arm. One moment, she had been totally engrossed in her task, the next she was being pulled to her feet.

            She was frozen by her objective horror, telling herself that this wasn't really happening. He was still on the other side of the room trying to wear her down with that sexy glare of his. She was simply hallucinating this encounter. Her hesitation was the opportunity he'd counted on; he slid his hands into her hair, tilted her chin up, and kissed her.

            Instant distraction. Total confusion. And what was he doing with his lower lip? She sighed as the answer was soon made apparent. She felt her mind slip into a persistent haze of animalistic pleasure.

            Wow. Who knew he could kiss like this? He was arrogant and grouchy and a complete ass, but DAMN. She could get used to this. In fact, she _was_ getting used to it. Already her hands were gliding over his chest. Her mouth moving in counter to his. Some cunning, inner voice was telling her that a few—if not most—of his personality traits were the inevitable result of a lack of training. And he had potential. The pure quantity of raw, male material boggled her mind.

            Literally.

            She was on the verge of utilizing a judo technique Heero had taught her which would land Wufei squarely on the rumpled bed without fail, when he lifted his head. His dark, dark eyes stared intently into hers. His hands were moving over the nape of her neck in tantalizing caresses. She was gathering her breath for a rematch when he spoke.

            "Taki," he breathed.

            "Uh?" Her eyes were on the throbbing vein in his throat. She was fascinated by the possibilities.

            "Where are my clothes?"

            Still sluggish from carnal delights, Taki took a breath to reply, her brain a full two seconds behind her mouth. "I have no idea," she confessed, dazed. "I gav—"

            She came up short just as the warning bells in her ears reached a painful volume. Immediately, she realized her near blunder. Her mouth snapped shut. Her rising ire burned away the rich after-glow. Her dark eyes narrowed. Glaring at him, she pushed herself away from his bare chest but somehow managed to connect with a wall. Escape thwarted by this unexpected obstacle, she paused and in that brief instant Wufei blocked all alternate escape routes.

            He leaned in close, one arm on either side of her shoulders, and asked once more, "What did you do with them?"

            Taki ground her teeth together in angst. He was practically purring the words, dammit. And his black eyes were smoldering, as if he weren't looking to get dressed, but rather the opposite. Thank God he kept his mouth clamped together. If he'd done some sexy lip thing she would have been toast. Already, her mind was making up for lost time, zooming through ways to distract him and get this payback back on track. She realized that she was still holding the Exacto knife. Violence was always an option, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. He was just too gorgeous to maim.

            God, what was wrong with her? She'd never hear the end of it from Heero if her buddy ever found out about the predicament Taki had allowed herself to get into. The shame. The utter horror. The fantastic hormones. No, it wasn't all bad, but still, she had principles, standards, unfinished sketches.

            "Well?" he prompted, his voice a sultry growl.

            She was dying. He was killing her. He had at least one seductive bone in his body. Who knew? She glared back at him, "I told you. I don't know."

            He smiled. Slowly. She had to steel herself against a shiver. "Guess."

            She shook her head. "It's no good. I forgot." She sounded breathless. And she hated it. 

            Wufei didn't relent. He bent even closer. "Then perhaps I should help you... remember."

            Torn between the desperation to avoid more embarrassment and the desperation to fall back into the oblivion of sensation, she rallied, "Wait, I think it's coming back to me."

            Taki thought quickly. She had to distract him. If maiming was out, then she'd just have to think of an alternative. Her gaze turned speculative. She tentatively reached out and brushed her fingertips against his ribs. He flinched.

            She could have laughed.

_            Perfect._

            "Wufei, you're not... ticklish are you?"

            She saw the truth in the narrowing of his eyes, in their resigned, yet determined gleam. Oh, yes, this was going to be painful, but he didn't move away to defend himself. And just as she commanded her hands to begin their inhuman torment, the doorbell rang.

_            Dammit_.

            "Who the hell could that be?" she grouched. "I've already been interrupted once this week. Don't these people know that an artist needs complete, uninterrupted calm—an environment, a _bubble_—in order to create? That's it. Death. Death to whoever is at that door." She turned her gaze back on Wufei. "Will you move so I can have my blood bath?"

            She stomped on his foot and ducked under an arm. She was free so easily that she felt even more shamed that she hadn't tried the simple maneuver earlier.

            She opened the door still holding her Exacto knife, to the surprise of Duo Maxwell.

            "I'm unarmed," he hastily pointed out.

            "Uh huh?" She was not mollified.

            "Have you seen Yokaze?"

            Taki blinked and finally noticed the anxiety in Duo's face, the curiosity in George's, and the glacial stare emanating from Trowa. She felt a headache roar to life behind her eyeballs. She felt like telling Wufei to get over here so she could stab something, but instead she turned to the nearest wall and let her forehead fall against it with a loud _thud!_

            "'Things will get worse before they get worse,'" she quoted.

            The foreboding of those words did not escape those in the apartment. They fell like a wet blanket in the silence. A smelly, scratchy, cold, wet, wool blanket.

            In the living room, George's Regulator clock chimed the hour. Midnight.

            What a sucky way to start the week.

**.**

**~End of Chapter 17~**


	20. Chapter 18: The Scar

**The Perfect Soldier**

**Chapter 18:  The Scar**

**.**

**            Heero was inside.**

            Around his crouching figure, the familiar shadows crept forward to claim him. They whispered down the corridors, poured across the colorless tiles, echoed up into the open vent that yawned blackly above the intruder. Cobalt eyes remained fixed on the darkness ahead, keen ears tuned to the blackness behind. All was still. All was silent.

            For now.

            Not a single breath rushed past his lips to tear the perfect silence. Now he knew that his skills as a soldier would truly be tested. Here, where his teacher, his tormentor, his truth remained. More care was required here and now than had ever been demanded or necessary during his short, deadly career. In his memory, this place had never slept soundly, not even at two in the morning. It rolled like a fevered beast, constantly shifting in its sleep, seeking relief from the heat of infection. In its non-sleep, it slipped through time like a shark, for whom pause was an impossibility except in death. Unable to release itself from its terrible momentum of savagery, it circled in the silence.

            Watching. Forever watching.

            It was this watchfulness that made Heero's task so complicated. So dangerous.

            So necessary.

            Cobalt eyes narrowed as something echoed up from the darkness to sigh in his ears. Time was wearing thin. He moved.

            In any other place, on any other mission, his presence, if it had been detected, had been assumed to be nothing more than a dream. He had been a vision slipping in and out of the unconscious mind which he plundered and mined for its secrets. But sleep did not live in this place. They would know. They would come.

            Soon.

            The black-clad figure shrank against a chill wall. A hand reached out and wrapped long, strong fingers around the stainless steel of a door latch. He did not attempt to open it. It was locked, of course. His fingertips whispered to the control panel. Sensing the motion, a light illuminated the keys. It waited.

            He did not hesitate to use the code Dr. J had given him. It was a ploy, of course. It would alert the station's keepers to his presence. But it was the only way into the chamber. The chamber was all that mattered.

            The keys did not beep as he pressed in the doomed numbers. The only sound was the gentle slide of metal against metal as the bolt retracted. It covered the sound of a gun slipping out of a leather sheath. The safety unlocked beneath a firm touch. The long snout of the silencer gleamed darkly in the shadows. He was ready for what awaited him in the darkness.

            Or so he thought.

            The room was deserted.

            It was a trap.

            But that did not stop him, not this time.

            The gun would be useless for the attack that would come. He abandoned it and turned to the main computer. He had mere seconds and knew to use them carefully. The sound of gloved hands tapping out codes enveloped Heero Yuy. So consumed with his mission was he that the sound of boots striking the tiles never made it to his ears. He did not hear the dozens of soldiers, like himself, preparing to confiscate the intruder. He did not listen for the bolt. He did not cringe at the click of the latch. He did not turn when the door opened. It was only the voice that stopped him, that froze his hands above the keys, that signaled the end of this mission.

            "Why, Zero-one. Still pretending to be a boy?"

            Heero Yuy...  No, _Zero-one_ leaned away from the computer. The years of lies slid off of her shoulders. The face of her artificial twin slipped from her features. It was over. She was finished.

            When she turned to look at the only father she possessed memory of, she was not the impressively trained soldier he had lost. She was the enemy he had created.

**. **

**            "Come on, Heero. **You can beat me. I know you can. Let's do this one more time."

            The serious voice matched the line of the young girl's mouth. The strength in her voice matched the muscles in her forearms. But the deadliness of the game did not match the affectionate gleam in her eyes. Her younger partner, a boy of about nine years, looked up at her with determination. He said nothing, merely nodded, and took up his sword again.

            In his seat aboard the intercolony space shuttle, Heero Yuy watched the home video Dr. J had given him before he'd left. It was dated nine years ago. And it was only a few minutes long, mere moments. It was a record of his first true test in fencing. And Yokaze had been his opponent.

            The stinging slap of steel striking steel trickled into his ears as he watched the swordplay between two soldiers. There were no padded vests, face guards, or blunt tips. They faced each other as true fighters. She lunged, driving him back. He blocked, and waited. 

            This was not the first time Heero had seen this video. During the long flight, he'd nearly memorized every movement, every breath, every bead of sweat. He knew what came next, and although he did not cringe, he felt heavy with grief.

            She glided within range and lunged. He watched his younger self turn sharply and bring his sword tip up and up, arching toward her perfect cobalt eyes. He would have blinded her. He knew his clumsy adaptation of the attack would have maimed if not killed. But she was quick.

            However, she was not quick enough.

            The razor tip of his sword sliced through her young flesh and a line of red grinned across her left cheek. Heero flexed his right hand against the arm rest of his seat, remembering the feel of resilient flesh—mortal flesh—being destroyed by his hand for the first time. Oh, he had known how to kill with the blade long before this interview, but he had never utilized his skill. The movie rolled on, but his younger self had frozen in shock. Yokaze didn't move, either. They simply stared at each other for a long moment. Blood dripped steadily down her face, staining the white of her uniform. And then she released her sword. His image started as the foil clattered to the mat and he blinked up at her in confusion.

            She smiled. Yokaze crouched down on her knees and reached for him. Still holding his weapon, he leaned into her as she touched her bloodied cheek to his clean one. His child-self was confused by this, but reassured by her acceptance of the pain. When she leaned away once more, she held his gaze and whispered a single, simple sentence.

            "Thank you, Heero."

            At the time, her words had made no sense. The boy in the movie frowned as the others rushed forward to press a bandage over the dripping wound on her face. They disarmed him and lead him away. She stayed behind and watched him go and never stopped smiling her soft smile.

            The screen filled with static. That was it. The movie had finished.

            Slowly, Heero reached forward and turned off the video unit. As he did this, he thought of the look on Yokaze's face. He recognized that look; it was the same as Kathy's when she looked at Trowa.

            Heero turned to stare into the blackness beyond the shuttle's window as he let himself slip back into his conversation with Dr. J. 

_            "Is Zero-one my sister?"_

_           The older man stared at Heero for a long moment, as if shocked by this question. "Your sister?" he repeated._

_            Heero nodded._

_            Dr. J sat back in his chair and considered the image of his interviewer. "Heero—"_

            "Mr. Yuy, I beg your pardon."

            Heero looked up at the flight attendant. She pointed to his video monitor. "You've just received a message."

            He nodded and turned back to the display. A few seconds later, Duo's familiar face came into view. Instantly, Heero tensed. Whatever Duo had risked a communication for could only be bad news. 

**.**

**            She did not **say his name. In truth, she had never known it. The others called him General. But she refused to utter that title. It was a name of power, of distinction, given to a man of influence and this madman held no such sway over her.

            For long moments, neither of them said a thing.

            She did not ask what he wanted.

            She knew.

            She had always known.

            He wanted her, his first creation, his perfect soldier.

            "Zero-one, I always knew you'd return." The clean shaven, chiseled features smiled at her, but there was a chill in his eyes. As the silence stretched between them, his expression shifted from calculated victory to calculated contriteness. "Aren't you glad to see me?"

            Silence.

            "Didn't you miss me? The training? The challenge?" He smiled, his teeth gleaming in predatory appreciation. "The death?"

            Still, the silence.

            He took a step closer. "Zero-one, you _do_ remember who I am, don't you?" He was teasing her. His cold, ice-blue eyes skimmed over her and flicked to the computer monitor. "You're running a data search?"

            The question was rhetorical.

            He chuckled. "Let's see if you find what you're looking for. In the meantime..." He knocked on the metal door twice and, immediately, a guard appeared. A few murmured words passed from the general to his subordinate and then the guard retired once more. She did not doubt that there were scores of other guards just like him waiting beyond the door. 

            Just then, the computer beeped. A pair of silver-blue eyes focused on the screen. A single sentence of green type blinked across the terminal's display.

_            No matches found for DNA sample "Zero-one."_

            The general smiled. "Well, well. You still haven't discovered who you are? What a pity. It's a shame our resources don't hold an answer for you, dear." When he saw the perfect lack of reaction in her features, his entire being softened. Even the bite left his smile. "Zero-one." His voice was softer. His hands relaxed. He regarded her with curiosity and appreciation. "Zero-one. It's been six years. Are you now ready to resume your place here? You must have exhausted every lead in your search prior to even considering coming here. Coming home." He reached out a hand to her. "Have you come home, Zero-one?"

            He expected her to take his hand. She knew what the alternative was. She needed more time. But she could not bring herself to willfully touch him.

            She took a step toward him, her eyes never leaving his face. She watched the smug pride. The conceit. In all of these years, nothing had changed. He moved forward until one of his large hands had clamped onto her shoulder. 

            He told her, "It's good to have you back."

            A movement behind him caused the general to turn. The guard had returned.

            The General nodded to him and he entered the room. A moment later, Zero-one realized that he was not alone. As her eyes alighted on the second, smaller figure, the general spoke once more.

            "Zero-one, meet my newest protegé, Zero-four."

            Zero-one stared at the young girl. The young girl who carried the same bearing as she, the same hardness as she, the same calculation as she. For a fraction of a moment, she neglected to sort through any of this new information. And then it came together in a rush.

            "As you can see, I didn't let your absence stop me from creating the perfect soldier. Zero-four is the result of years of hard work. Once, there were others like her, but they could not handle the training." His arctic gaze moved over Zero-one's face. "_Your _training. All of them paled in comparison to your simulation data at the same age. All except Zero-four."

            The young soldier stared dispassionately at her older counterpart, not the least concerned with the praise her creator dealt to her. The General's gaze moved over the young girl and then returned to Zero-one.

            "My dear, I have one last training simulation for you to complete." 

**.** ****

**_            I'm sorry, Heero._**

            Cobalt eyes drifted shut.

_            I'm sorry, Taki._

            A slow, steady breath was drawn through her nose and released through her mouth.

_            I'm sorry, George._

            Blindly, a strong hand reached for the white, cotton shirt.

_            I'm sorry, Bisho._

            Hands fisted in the material that was the color of pain.

_            I'm sorry, Duo._

            Slowly, as if she meant to torture herself with the movement, she slipped the article over her head. The cotton was soft, but the whiteness scraped over her skin, leaving her raw. 

_            I'm sorry, Quatre._

            She opened her eyes and reached for the pristine breaches.

_            I'm sorry, Wufei._

            With a flurry of deft motions, she belted the garment in place. Her gaze fell to the soft boots. She bent and slipped her feet into them.

_            I'm sorry, Katherine._

            She reached for the last items of clothing: a pair of white gloves. At this, she hesitated. She turned her hands over, remembering all of the things she had used them for: hacking into computers, setting bombs, fixing machines, building machines. Stupid things, worthless things. When was the last time she had used these hands for anything good, anything worthy?

            When had she last embraced another human being? Smoothed a wayward lock of hair away from another's face? And what of the things she had never done? These hands had never grasped another's in quiet companionship, had never wiped away tears from a pair of deep, silent green eyes.

_            Trowa._

            She closed her eyes once more as she felt the rasp of white against her mind.

_            I'm sorry._

            She heard the click of the door latch and opened her eyes. It was time.

            "Are you ready, Zero-one?"

            The General smiled from the threshold.

            Zero-one said nothing.

            Undaunted, his gaze slid over her. "I remember the day you were brought to us, so very long ago. And yet, it feels like only last week it all began." He paused and his eyes examined her face as if attempting to locate a single fault. "You were my first. I told myself that I would make mistakes, that sooner or later you would be ruined, incapable of functioning competently." He smiled again, remembering. "I made many mistakes. But you never buckled. Not once. And that is what makes you a true masterpiece."

            She said nothing. To him, she was a plaything, a toy; toys did not speak.

            Her silence amused him. He was softly chuckling to himself as he opened the door wider. "Come, Zero-one. It begins."

            She swept past him into the room that was to be the battleground. The brilliant, white tiles stretched out to define the rectangular arena. The white walls and two-way mirrors gave the open room a sterile quality which made the air she dragged into her lungs seem colder, drier. But it was instantly forgotten at the sight of her opponent who waited in the center of the room with two gleaming fencing swords. Like her, the opponent wore no padding, no mask. The tips of the swords bit into the air with their vicious points.

            She understood. This was to be a battle to the death. 

            Her gaze collided with the younger, colder cobalt gaze. For a moment, they simply stared at each other. And then Zero-one invaded the distance between them and held out her hand for one of the weapons.

            Her gaze never left her opponent's. The chill, the utter void where a human being would have been echoed through her being. This was not a soldier, a human being, a child. This was a machine. She remembered the pride on the General's face when he'd introduced Zero-four and felt the flood of icy rage ignite her blood. He had, once again, taken what was not his to take. And it was too late for this child to be healed. How many creatures like this one had come and gone since Zero-one had fled? How may had he created from Zero-one's discarded DNA? How many girls, _her clones_, had he created for his amusement? And how many of them had fought their mentor's madness? How many of them had been broken before their end?

            The blank-eyed monster opposite her held out a sword and Zero-one wrapped her hand around the pommel. 

            Soon, it would be over.

            Soon.

**.**

**            Heero heard Duo's **words as if from a great distance. The winds of his thoughts whipped across the space between them, snatching at the sound of Duo's voice and carrying the syllables off into the void. But the most important words had failed to be destroyed. They pierced through him, echoing, circling in the blackness that had suddenly yawned into existence in his chest. 

            Yokaze was missing.

            And he knew where she was, God help her.

            The winds shifted at that single three-letter word. God. A being he had never believed in. A lie he had never been conditioned to advocate. But for Yokaze's sake, he hoped there was more out there to protect her than a phantom of a dream from a forgotten youth.

            Heero felt his eyes close as the arms, the scent of gunpowder, blood, and sweat wrapped around him once more. His pulse raced with the knowledge, the fear, the foreboding. And he could do nothing. He was racing through space in freeze-frame. He was trapped on the only vessel that could bring him to her. He was numb in the warmest arms he'd ever imagined.

            And everything he had ever wanted now stood perched on the edge of his heart, waiting for an unbalanced breath to cast it, tumbling, into the blackness.

**.**

**_            "Engarde!"_**

            Zero-one leaned heavily to her left as the gleaming steel sliced through the air. She felt the whistle of the disturbed molecules against her ear. Swiftly, she leapt back, regarding her opponent. Engarde, indeed.

            There was no foreplay, no testing, no inquiry into each other's skills. It was instantaneous, a temper, a tempest. It was life and death in the flick of a wrist.

            The child-monster advanced, unrelenting. Zero-one was content to counter, to dodge, to block. Each moment of time she bought brought the end that much closer. They circled in the unremarkable room, unconscious of the burning eyes that followed them from the other side of the mirrors. The scuff of the slim, white boots against the cold, white tiles, the sting of steel striking itself, the howl of the air as it took the blow, the light puff of breath through flared nostrils became the symphony of the moment. 

            The overture lasted five minutes, ten. And still, Zero-one retreated under the ferocious intensity of a single had-never-been-child. And then, the music that echoed through the room came to clanging halt. Zero-four stumbled and the blade arched upward in a novice mistake. A mistake that struck at Zero-one's memory as the slivery tip ascended toward her eyes. She leapt away.

            She was quick.

            But not quick enough.

            The blade sliced across the flawless skin of her right cheek. And she remembered.

            In that instant, frozen, immovable, she was in another time, fighting another opponent, receiving an opposite wound. 

_            Heero..._

            All was silent as Zero-four waited for her opponent's retaliation. But, to the cobalt eyes that stared out above a blood-splattered visage, it was no longer Zero-four—a smaller, lifeless copy of herself—before her. Slowly, her hand rose to her left cheek, seeking the raised scar that he'd given her. Her first gift. The first thing she'd ever had in flesh and bone that _they_ had not dictated to her. The child that he was, Heero could not have possibly understood the significance and value of that scar. 

_            Thank you, Heero._

            Her fingertips whispered over her skin. And felt nothing.

            Of course nothing was there. They had taken it. In their quest to create perfection, even a single scar, they had denied her.

            A new resolve filled her.

            A new calm.

            There was no hate, no chill, no calculation. There was only the time left to be bought. The promised end to all that had been stolen from her. And all that they would steal from Heero and from Zero-four.

            She was numb. Completely numb for the first time in her known memory.

            Her gaze flicked to the black windows. He was there, smiling with his conceit. He was there, deluded by his own creation. She had not come here looking for her past. She had come here to create the future. Her dark gaze slid back to the waiting soldier. They all thought she'd returned to discover her identity. What fools. The DNA search with which she'd engaged the data base had been a time-buying necessity. They did not know about her true mission. They could not guess at the computer's true assignment. They had no way of seeing what waited in the darkness of the ventilation shafts above them, below them. They could not see the synchronized, blinking clocks as they slowly beeped toward 0:00:00. They did not know she'd already spent over twelve hours in the base installing the seeds of its destruction.

            But she knew.

            She had descended into this hell one final time for one reason alone: Heero. They had mutilated his spirit for too many years. He had endured pain that she could have ended long ago. But she had left him behind. To learn to survive. To start a war only he could end. She had seen the spirit in him they could not touch. And if he had not flown Wing Zero, the war would still be raging. As it was, it would soon begin again. And this time, there was so much more to loose.

            So much to loose. So much that had never been possessed.

            She thought of the scar they had taken. 

            She thought of the name she had never had.

           She remembered that moment when she'd pressed her bloodied cheek to Heero's. She remembered the feel of him, stiff and reluctant in her grasp. In that moment, she'd had a name.

            She claimed it now.

            Yokaze smiled as she took up her sword once more. 

**.**

**            The wind fled **from him. The motor of the stolen motorbike screamed beneath him. He was breaking every speed limit known to mankind. If anyone had bothered to ask him if he cared, he would have ignored the very sound of another human voice. His cobalt eyes fixed on the horizon of L1 and let all the rest of the world fall away.

            The littered streets, the sagging buildings, the shadows of life barely stirred in his wake. He was barely human, himself. The soldier had eclipsed his muscle and bone, but a very human plea echoed out of his tearing eyes.

            He was close. In less than ten minutes, he would be there. In less that thirty, he _swore_, he would have her out of there. Nothing would stop him. Not the scientists, not the strategists, not even the General himself. They would not take her from him. She would not leave him. Not now. Not when he had just discovered the truth.

_            Dr. J smiled wistfully. "Heero, if I told you that being someone's sibling was only about genetics, _I _think you'd suspect I was lying to you."_

            The merciless wind tore a thicker stream of tears from the young man's eyes. 

_            "She loved you."_

            Beneath the white-knuckled grip on the throttle, the front wheel spun blackly, furiously, hurtling the bulk of the vehicle and its single occupant closer to the target.

_            "She would do anything for you._ _When they threatened your life if she didn't cooperate with the surgeries, she believed their bluff and submitted."_

           Five minutes. He could see the looming gray of its façade in the distance, peering between equally doomed buildings.

_            "When she learned you were too valuable to destroy, she fled. She had no other choice, you see. But, Heero, it must have nearly killed her to leave you behind."_

            Heero blinked back the blurring that encroached on his vision and crouched lower over the bike. He was nearly there. Minutes. Moments.

            He saw it before he heard it. The black smoke and flame that engulfed the gray shadow on the near horizon. The crumbling, buckling metal. His eyes widened as the impossible unfolded before him: the destruction of hell, _his _hell. And hers as well.

            His hand had loosened around the throttle and the bike was beginning to slow. He didn't notice it. Didn't bother to care about it. That was when the blast rocked past him, slamming into him. And woke him from his shock.

            With a vicious twist of his wrist, the bike screamed back to life. All was not lost. Perhaps there were survivors. Perhaps she had escaped before the blast.

            He hoped.

            And he hated himself for it.

            The bike roared off toward the burning waste, leaving the occasional droplet behind to collide with the dusty street and to, eventually, be absorbed into the colony's artificial atmosphere.

**.**

**~End of Chapter 18~**


	21. Chapter 19: Broken Masks

**The Perfect Soldier**

**Chapter 19: Broken Masks**

**. **

**            For nearly a **week, all shuttle ports in the L1 colony were closed. No exceptions. The colony huddled beneath the heavy sirens and soot-stained yellow of emergency rescue personnel uniforms. Fire engines were dispatched to deal with the flames. Police were dispatched to deal with the few curious colonists. Trucks were sent to deal with the rubble. And, after several hours, it was clear that only dogs could be sent to deal with the dead.

            As it was in many other casualties, in many other battles, in wars throughout the history of human existence, this was an attack so devastating that no one could have possibly survived. But what was more, it had left very few bodies to be claimed. Looking at the crater that remained of the six-story structure (four of which had resided beneath the colony's surface streets), Taki felt any hope she had struggled to cling to numb. She swayed for a moment before sitting down hard on the grimy street. She stared in silence, the presence of her companions forgotten.

            It was the same for the others. The shock, the disintegration of hope. With the exception of one. With narrowed eyes, he stepped apart from the others and began to search for the items he would need.

            Less than a half an hour later, having donned an equally grubby set of yellow jacket and overalls, Trowa Barton was crossing the maze of rubble toward the lone figure bent over the remains of an elevator. The jacket and coveralls were nearly black with smoke stains. But the froth of dark hair was unmistakable.

            As he came abreast of his friend, he did not speak. Heero had heard his approach. Trowa saw the acknowledgement in the stiffening of the other man's spine. Without pause or preamble, Trowa bent to help him in prying the jammed doors open. Heero had been working at the doors for nearly an hour, but with the uninvited assistance Trowa offered, it was opened in less than ten minutes. And was found to be empty.

            Trowa sat back on his heels, contemplating the setback, feeling the enormity of the task ahead of him. The emptiness inside of him he kept carefully in check roared for release. He looked away from the badly beaten elevator and found himself staring into Heero's blood-shot gaze. Days without sleep, days of searching through smoke and soot, and days of grief had slowly spread a pink cast over his gaze. And on his face, the layers of soot, disrupted only by tear tracks that had been dried by the wind and partially obscured by a new layer of grime traced the path of his silent sorrow. There, on his face, was a history of pain unlike anything Trowa had ever seen. The grooves carved through soot by the continual presence of a wayward tear pulled at the lock that kept Trowa's chest together. 

            He stared in silence at a new tear shimmering on the edge of Heero's lashes and heard her voice echo from somewhere inside of him. _"Everyone here knows how to cry..."_

            The lock snapped and Trowa struggled to swallow down the shattered pieces of his breast bone. He turned his face away as Duo's foot steps grew louder. 

            Navigating the broken shards of metal was more difficult that it had initially appeared, but the defeat in Heero's shoulders was the only thing Duo focused on. How many days had it been since Heero had slept or eaten? Duo stumbled to a halt next to the crouched figure and placed a gloved hand on his shoulder. 

            "Come on, Heero. You need to rest."

            Heero ignored him.

            Finally, Trowa turned his attention back to the Wing pilot. "Go," he ordered. "I'm taking over your shift."

            A long moment passed before he nodded. And an even longer one came and went before he attempted to stand. When Duo's eyes finally moved over the face of his friend, he shot Trowa an alarmed look to which Trowa merely nodded once. He said nothing, for his throat was still occupied with swallowing the pieces of himself that were attempting to force their way out. His schooled features revealed nothing but he could feel his mask crumbling from the inside.

**.**

**            Duo listened to **the rush of the shower spray with a heavy heart. Heero had said nothing during the long trek to the hotel. Not a word. Not a glance. Only a tear.

            Duo's violet eyes fell to the pile of discarded clothes at his feet. Slowly, he bent and picked up the soiled, flame retardant jacket. The single tear still quivered on its surface, fighting to make its downward journey. In its wake, it left a glistening trail of black. One tear, it seemed, was not enough to cleanse the horrors of the past week.

            He collected the discarded items and shoved them into a garbage bag, to be dealt with later. Then he went to his own duffle and removed a set of clean clothes for Heero. Duo realized that he knew Heero too well; he had known that the man only traveled with one spare set of clothes. Shaking his head in something between disgust and bewilderment, he tucked the shirt and slacks under his arm and rounded the bed.

            The water was still going in the shower. How long had he been in there? More than ten minutes, for sure. That sent a bolt of alarm through him. Heero never took more than a five minute shower.

            "Heero? You okay in there?"

            Only the spray of the shower replied.

            Duo knocked loudly this time. "Heero?"

            Nothing.

            "Heero, I'm coming in. I've got some clean clothes for you." 

            Still, no reply. Duo tried the doorknob. It turned silently.

            "Heero?" he said into the steam-filled darkness. "I'm gonna put these clothes on the toilet seat, okay? Don't sit on 'em when you come out and get 'em all wet." 

            One hand groped along the wall, searching for the light switch. He wasn't about to go stumbling around in the dark. He would be just asking for a skull-cracking fall. The first lever his fingers encountered got flipped on. And, just as it so happened, Duo had found the nightlight. Its soft, orangey glow radiated out above the sink and mirror. Duo quickly mapped out the bathroom and plotted a clear course to the commode. As promised, the clothes were placed on the seat. That completed, Duo couldn't resist glancing in the direction of the shower's silent occupant.

            Through the translucent curtain, Duo could make out the outline of Heero's figure. He wasn't drowning or sleeping. He was standing. And the way he stood made Duo pause.

            "Heero?" His voice was hardly more than a whisper. And, before he'd even thought to do it, Duo had crossed the short distance to the foot of the tub and gently urged the curtain aside a few inches. "Heero?"

            Like all the other times before, he was ignored. But that didn't concern Duo nearly as much as the fact that Heero stood, arms crossed over himself, just beyond the shower's spray. From where he stood, Duo was presented with Heero's back. He rested his forehead in the smooth, plastic crease of the bath liner... as if he were hiding. And it didn't look as though he'd even stepped into the water yet. His hair was still limp, dirty, and dry.

            Duo frowned with concern when he noticed the sharp rise and fall of the young man's shoulders. He was crying... or trying very hard not to. This time, Duo reached out as he said his friend's name. The instant his hand made contact with Heero's shoulder, the other youth spun, slapping Duo's hand away.

            "Stay away from me!" he snarled, barring his teeth.

            Duo was so startled that his hand hung in midair for a good two or three heartbeats. "Heero?"

            They stood facing each other with only the steam and hurt between them. Icy, enraged cobalt to shocked, soft violet. As the moment stretched until a single breath would break it in two, neither young man moved a muscle.

            It was the shrill screech of the telephone that finally shattered the tension of the minute. Without a word, Duo turned and left the bath. He was silent from the sting of the violent rejection, confused, and still—always—compassionate for the lost soul in the dark room next door.

            Duo grabbed the receiver. "Yeah?"

            The voice on the other end of the line wished him a good evening and asked for a Mr. Heero Yuy. It wasn't a voice Duo recognized, but he sensed the sadness, the resignation in the caller's voice. Automatically, he knew what it was about.

            "I'll get him." His voice was strangled and low, but a sound behind him alerted him to the fact that he'd been overheard just the same. He looked up into Heero's blank expression, his own eyes communicating his regret that this call had come. 

            If Heero saw the compassion in Duo's eyes, he didn't care to show it. He held out a still-grimy hand for the receiver. Reluctantly, Duo relinquished it. There was so much he needed to say, but he didn't know any of the right words. For once, Duo was forced to keep his mouth shut and watch in helpless silence as his best and most reluctant friend was informed that Yokaze's remains had been identified.

**.**

**            Taki hadn't needed **to hear the words. The look on Quatre's face had told her enough. More than enough.

            And she was pissed.

            It was obvious that all of them believed that inane DNA science babble. What idiots. Didn't they know Heero? Didn't they realize that she wasn't really dead? Couldn't be dead? She was the fucking perfect soldier, God dammit.

            Taki blew out a frustrated breath and squinted down at the sketchbook in her hands. Taki had always drawn what was on her mind. And today, on this rooftop, she was thinking about her best friend. The face was beginning to take shape on the rough paper. The dim spark of dry humor in her eyes. The flat line of her mouth and high arc of her brows. 

            "I don't know how you did it, but you got out of there in time," she told the unfinished sketch. "You _better have_ gotten yourself out of there, you wench. I _refuse_ to believe that DNA crap. You're _too good_ to get yourself blown up."

            But Taki wasn't really, truly convinced of her own words. She spoke them with too much conviction, too much anger, too little confidence. The truth was that Heero had always been the sort of person who would have given her life in payment of a debt. And Taki knew the debt. 

            "You bitch, I still want to know how you pulled off that spa thing!"

            There had been a sadness about Heero when she'd explained that she'd had to leave her twin behind at the mercy of the organization. She'd left him behind so that he might finish a war that he was destined to start. Taki had seen the regret. Taki had seen the knowledge in her eyes; Heero had known what they'd done to him. And so she'd broken into the organization's facility and destroyed whatever hold they'd had over Heero Yuy. 

            And the bitch of it was that Heero wouldn't have even seen this mission as a repayment. She would have known that nothing could have compensated for what had occurred on the other side of those silent walls. She would have seen it as the least she could do.

            Taki's hand was still moving over the sketch. She was trying to get the hair right. It had fallen over her left eye like this, hadn't it? But no, that didn't look right at all. With another heated sigh, she reached for her eraser and attacked the mess she'd made of Heero's hair.

            Dammit. How _had_ it fallen over her brow? Taki must have spent four years looking at her hair, why was she having such a hard time picturing it? How had it looked the first time they'd met, at the Federal Reserve Shipping Center? How had it looked when she'd marched into Relena's mansion and thumbed through yesterday's paper? How had it looked when she'd made her grand entrance wearing her black leather and laces? How had it looked that night when she'd shown up in a tux on her way to The Red Eye?

            She couldn't remember.

            With a strangled sound, Taki tore the page from her sketch book and tossed it into the wind. "God dammit, Heero! Why didn't you sit still long enough for me to take a freaking picture of you?"

            Taki bent her head to the next new, clean page of her sketch book. 

            "Damn you. You're not dead."

            Her knuckles turned white as she gripped the mechanical pencil tighter. Something tinked against her glasses, obscuring the paper beneath her. At first, she thought it was raining. 

            At the edge of the roof of the unmarked building, Wufei Chang stood next to the fire escape. His gaze slid from the unfinished sketch he'd caught moments ago to the slumped figure seated no more than twenty feet away. There were no more words for the wind to carry to him, but he'd heard enough. He'd heard the pain, the disbelief, the helplessness, the rage. He'd heard all of the things in her voice that he'd ever heard in his own.

            With a sigh, he dug down into his pocket and pulled out the DNA results. The wind toyed with the folded sheet of paper, tugging it towards some unknown destination. The unknown: finally, Wufei Chang was ready to face that. He opened his hand and the wind snatched it away. For a moment, he looked at his empty hand. Then, he lifted his gaze to the city beyond and he thought he saw the letter flutter at him one last time before falling down toward the streets.

            He closed his hand and looked over his shoulder to the lone woman who had sought solace on an unfamiliar rooftop and who had found only pain. He understood that as well. He tucked the discarded sketch into his jacket pocket as he approached. She didn't seem to hear his footsteps, perhaps the wind was to blame for that. Nor did she seem to see him as he sat down beside her, perhaps her tears were to blame for that. But she did stiffen when she heard his voice, penetrating her chaos.

            "I'm sorry."

            He watched as she struggled to compose herself, to be strong. Her dark eyes, defiant and filled with tears snapped to his face. He did not know what expression he wore—he didn't care—but whatever it was made her hesitate to speak. She shivered as he reached out and touched the side of her face in one, long caress.

            He said, "Taki. I'm sorry."

            "She's not dead," she stubbornly insisted even as she leaned into his shoulder. 

            He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and touched his cheek to hers. With a shuddering sigh, he closed his eyes and allowed himself to relive the losses of his past as he shared her pain. At last, he could face this deep pain within him and it was because of this single, strong being. 

            In silence, he thanked her as held her while she grieved.

**.**

**            Trowa had watched **in silence as one of the workers had approached the board, marker in hand. It was a list of the confirmed dead, and it was about to add one more name to its ranks. He'd watched in silence as the clumsy, gloved hand had written out the next name. _Her_ name.

            No. The name he had _given_ her. _Yokaze._ The night wind.

            The name he'd given her out of awe.

            He hadn't cared enough to give her something real, something true.

            He hadn't cared enough to repay her.

            But he now understood that he had—_did_ care. Too late. Too late.

            Now, as Trowa stood at the edge of the mangled debris, his gaze focused on the list of the dead, he indulged his aching chest and allowed himself to breathe. And allowed himself to remember. He saw her in her once-of-a-lifetime entrance. He saw her hanging over the edge of the trapeze platform. He saw her singing. He saw her perched over the edge of a monstrous truck engine. He saw the spark of humor in her eyes. He heard the resignation in her voice. But most of all, he dwelt on a single sentence, seemingly so inconsequential: _You were alphabetically first, Mr. Barton._

            He bent his head and let the significance of that admission roll over him. His name had been Barton. Hers had been Zero-one. And just like that, she'd consigned the unveiling of her own past to last. A task she would never complete.

            "Trowa?"

            He turned his head at the sound of Quatre's voice. And beside him was Kathy, his sister. No, she was Triton's sister, not Trowa's. He saw the understanding in Quatre's eyes. He saw the compassion in Kathy's. He shivered as she placed a hand on his back.

            "Trowa?"

            He looked away from them and his gaze collided with the list of the confirmed dead. His throat working to urge the words up from his gut, he took a shuddering breath.

            "No," he said, looking back to the only two people in the world who cared for him. "That's not my name anymore."

            Tears glittered on Kathy's lashes. Her voice broke as she supplied, "Triton."

            Trowa felt a tiny smile tug at his mouth in reply. "Aa," he told her. She slipped into his arms and hugged him, smearing her tears on his dusty, sweaty shirt. Over her head, he met Quatre's gaze. And while Quatre sensed the sorrow and the regret in his friend, he also witnessed a weight disintegrating from his shoulders as he, at last, accepted Yokaze's gift.

            "K-kathy?"

            Trowa and Quatre turned at the sound of George's inquisitive voice. She leaned away from her brother's chest and smiled up at him before looking over her shoulder at George.

            "Yes?"

            "I'm s-sorry to interrupt."

            She smiled at him. "No, no, that's fine. Is everything alright?"

            "Y-yes. It's just—" He glanced at Trowa and then looked back at Kathy. "Y-you haven't eaten today and I'm g-going t-to get s-something now..."

            Trowa studied the musician. He'd taken the news better than Trowa had expected, but he could still make out the raw, puffiness of his eyes.

            She looked thoughtful. "I suppose I am hungry." She glanced back at her brother but he had nothing for her but a command.

            "Eat."

            Kathy managed a smile. "That's usually my line." She patted his arm and said "Good night" to Quatre before accepting the burly musician's invitation.

            Quatre and Trowa watched her go and then, as one they turned to study the scribbles on the board. For a long moment, they said nothing.

            Then: "I miss her."

            Quatre blinked at his friend's admission before turning his inquisitive gaze on him.

            Trowa sent his friend a look. "She had a beautiful voice."

            "She did?"

            The wonder and surprise in Quatre's voice urged him on. "Yes. And she played the bass."

            Quatre smiled. "What else?"

            Turning his green eyes on his friend, he told him the one thing he would never speak of again. "She once told me that she cared."

            Quatre watched in stunned silence as twin tears shimmered to life and spilled down the passive face. It was only the second time he'd ever seen Trowa cry, the first being mere weeks ago on Christmas Day. But he wasn't Trowa any longer, was he? His name was Triton. He was a man with a sister, a home, a future, and a past. Quatre understood now that it was no coincidence that Yokaze had been the one to give him all of those things.

**.**

**~End of Chapter 19~**


	22. Chapter 20: Family

**The Perfect Soldier**

**Chapter 20: Family**

**.**

**            The late morning** light of the L2 colony sifted through the living room windows of Yokaze's apartment, setting the steel of the blades aflame. The specific way in which each blanket was folded, the persistent layer of dust that covered everything that was seldom used, the mural that stretched across the ceiling, all of these things he had never taken the time to notice before. He took his time now.

            The others were waiting for him outside, he knew. He didn't care. As he had for the past week, he ignored them completely. Soon, they would all be on their separate ways. He was relieved that that time was nearly upon them.

            His gaze moved over her things. He even stepped into her room and inspected her artifacts there as well. He was not concerned by his intrusion. This would be the last time he would come here. This would be the last time he would allow himself to admit to thinking of her. He wished it would be the last time he would ever think of her at all, but he knew that was impossible. Try as he might, he could not eliminate the image of her. Try as he might, he could not but feel pained that he had left her. Try as he might, he could only blame himself for allowing her to perish in the hell that was his responsibility to destroy. 

            Heero closed his eyes. But instead of the familiar dream, it was something different that came over him. Perhaps it was a memory. In the warm darkness behind his eyes, he thought he felt a bloodied cheek being pressed to his. He thought he felt the arms of a soldier steal around him. He thought he smelled the astringent scent of blood and sweat. He thought he was remembering the arms of Zero-one.

            His eyes opened as the soft, hesitant sound of shoes scuffing against the carpet reached him. He turned, expecting to see Duo, but was greeted by Quatre instead. His expression didn't change but something turned inside of him at the unexpected visitor. 

            "What is it?" he rasped.

            Quatre held out a single, white envelope. "It was in the mailbox. It's from the clinic."

            For a moment, he didn't move. But then Heero took the envelope and simply held it, studying it. The DNA test results were inside of this. The truth. 

_            "Heero, if I told you that being someone's sibling was only about genetics, _I _think you'd suspect I was lying to you."_

            He considered the words that replayed. He stared at the white and let his mind wander back to the single video he possessed of both he and Zero-one. He could feel the strength of her embrace, could smell the life in her blood, could see the love in her eyes.

            Heero turned toward Yokaze's nightstand, on which she kept a metal plate for spare change. He reached into his jacket pocket and removed a lighter. After only a second of contemplation, he triggered the flame and touched it to the envelope.

            To say Quatre was shocked was to say the least. He watched Heero with big eyes as the other young man replaced his lighter and turned away from the flaming bits of paper.

            Finally, he said, "She was my sister," and then he walked out of the room.

As he left, he didn't see the figure of a young man with braided hair leaning against the wall. He didn't know that his own pain was mirrored in those violet eyes. He didn't know that he wasn't the only one who had come into the truth, only too late.

            Duo closed his eyes and tried not to see Heero's reaction to that damn phone call. But it was no use; he remembered. He remembered how Heero had simply replaced the handset and then disappeared into the bath once more. He'd showered and dressed and, without so much as a glance at Duo, he'd walked out the door.

            His soft sigh caught Quatre's attention.

            "Duo?"

            He straightened and forced a stupid grin onto the stiff mask his face had become. "The one and only."

            Quatre's gaze softened as he saw through the strained expression.

            "Don't say it," Duo commanded softly, his features crumpling. "Just don't say it. Please."

            In silence, Quatre regarded Duo's pain. "All right," he said.

            The sunlight played between them.

            "The shuttle's leaving soon. We'd better get going."

            "Yeah," Duo sighed and started toward the door. "Let's go."

            But on the threshold, Quatre hesitated, his eyes taking in the extravagance and sparseness, the rich colors and the pale light. He wondered who this woman really was. He wondered what she had been, what she had done with her solitary life and mysterious missions. But none of the answers to his questions remained in this place. And so, in the end, he closed the door on Yokaze's apartment and sealed all of her mysteries away within it.

**.**

**~End of Chapter 20~**


	23. Aftermath

**The Perfect Soldier**

**Aftermath**

A.C. 198, December 24

**. **

**            It was Christmas,** again. As cobalt eyes moved over the assortment of company, he noted with numbness that much had changed. Quatre, their host for this year's festivities, had grown even more into his role of protector of L4. And yet, as he'd shouldered more and more responsibility, his smile had gained in radiance and confidence even as his eyes had grown bluer with worries and secret cares. But, at this moment, he was smiling, listening to the story being told to him by one of his guests. With a frown, the reluctant observer noticed that a bottle of Martini & Rossi Asti had certainly brought out lighter side of Mr. Winner tonight.

            That had been Taki's fault. She'd insisted. The cobalt gaze transferred to the chatty newcomer, unable to ignore the fact that she sat between Wufei's knees. She was—at the moment—ignoring her lover, in favor of getting a few laughs and shocks out of Quatre. The story with which she was entertaining was a detailed account of the happenings last year when she'd been delivering a payback to Wufei. Heero ignored most of it, only catching something about a pink, fuzzy bathrobe and an Exacto knife.

            His gaze moved on. Katherine also seemed engrossed by the rambling tale. But her fiancé, George, looked as if he'd heard it all before. He watched Taki with the soft glow of tolerant humor in his dark eyes.

            This small group boasted pink cheeks from too much wine and champagne, even Wufei sat leaning back against the sofa, looking more relaxed than he ever had in his life. He was even smiling—a miracle if there ever was one. It was obvious where the boundary line between those with Christmas spirit and those without lay.

            With a silent grunt of disapproval, Heero Yuy turned his attention to the chessboard he'd assembled.

            "Trowa, care for a game?"

            The tall, thin young man at the high-rise window turned slowly from his reflection to glance at his fellow Christmas exile. His green eyes were blank for a long moment as he studied Heero's features. The silence and the stare wore on for so long that Heero began to wonder if he was seeing _her_ instead.

            And then the green eyes dropped their gaze to the board and a look of pain and remorse creased the partially-obscured brow. It was a look that had, a year ago, been impossible for the silent, young man to display.

            Yes, many things had changed.

            Heero saw in Trowa's face the emptiness of his own existence this last year. Invisibility was rapidly becoming the coldest prison within Heero had ever been a captive, willing or not.

            Just as Trowa would have spoken—to accept or decline—the doorbell rang to the surprise of all. It was nearly midnight and all of the shuttles had already arrived for the Christmas Eve and Christmas Day celebration: Quatre's orders. Whoever was at that door, had been on the colony for a good ten hours. Which meant that the visitor was, most likely, Rashid, and not a certain violet-eyed young man who was curiously absent.

            Heero reflected on that. He, himself, had nearly flat-out declined Quatre's invitation because he had known he would see Duo again. And, after the incident on L1, Heero'd had no intention of being in the same room with Duo Maxwell again in his lifetime. But his curt rejection had been stalled by the strange pressure in his gut as he'd thought of the man Duo must be now that he'd found his sister, his family, his home; now that Duo had everything that Heero'd once had within his grasp but had destroyed with his suspicion. In that moment of Heero's hesitation, Quatre had read an affirmative reply and had promptly chartered him onto a shuttle. And so, Heero had arrived, but, ironically, Duo had not.

            He'd been relieved to learn that Duo had not shown up. But that didn't keep him from thinking that every knock on the suite door would yield to the familiar face. This time, it was the maid service. Evidently, Taki had order something—_anything and everything_—chocolate.

            Heero turned away from the commotion to the neatly ordered chessboard. Although he knew he wouldn't touch it, he stared at it, remembering past games, past strategies, past sacrifices. And that made him think of the biggest sacrifice he'd ever chosen to make in his life.

            All those months ago, on L1, he hadn't only witnessed the destruction of all that had ever held him to his profession of death. He'd witnessed the death of the only family he'd found in the cold entirety of the universe. And with the confirmation of her death, he'd returned to the hotel shower and washed all traces of the enemy from his thoughts.

            The dream was gone.

            And without it, he was little more than a machine. He lived in the instant. For if he thought outside of each, single minute, he was caught up in the sacrifices that had been made so that he might live, so that others might be protected.

            The maid was finally leaving now. Quatre had insisted that she have a drink with them. Heero glared at the chessboard and refused to dignify the events with his attention. In fact, he was so engrossed with his own efforts to avoid both his memories and the party's merriment that he didn't see the two figures slip into the room just as the door was about to close. But he did hear the new voice and felt himself tense reflexively.

            "Hey, this looks like the right place."

            "Duo!" Quatre exclaimed. "You made it!"

            "Yeah. We just couldn't stay away."

            At the word "we," Heero found himself turning, glancing over his shoulder at the suite door. His eyes collided violently with Duo's and he felt a strange ache twist inside of him. There was a resignation in those eyes that had never been there before, a death born of failure and of loss.

            His gaze still locked with Heero's, Duo Maxwell continued, "I promised Bisho we'd see the sights."

            Having heard the name of Duo's sister, Heero managed to look away, returning to his silence.

            "That's why we're so late," he finished, his gaze lingering for one last moment on the stiff back of a once-was-friend. Finally, he shifted his attention to Quatre and the others.

            Taki took the opportunity to stand and stretch. "Well, Duo, you are just in time. In accordance with the traditions I have observed over the years with a few very good friends of mine—" Her gaze lingered on George's as they passed the name of another good, but absent friend between them. "—We are all opening one Christmas present tonight _before_ we go to bed." She turned and smiled at Wufei who was still sitting with his legs sprawled out before him on the plush carpet. "I've got_ yours_," she informed him and enjoyed watching him wince.

            She pulled a red and orange present out from under the massive tree and plopped it in his lap. Everyone watched as Wufei unwrapped his pre-Christmas morning gift, although he did so with no small amount of apprehension. He pulled out a white T-shirt which _seemed_ safe enough to display to the others. But it wasn't until he'd unfolded it that the bold, black print revealed itself. On the back, Taki had thoughtfully printed "I'm with Squeakers" and followed it with a small but unmistakable sketch of a smelly-looking rat.

            He glared at her. Or rather, he tried. "You're never going to forget that, are you?" he accused.

            She grinned. "One of your truly great and shining moments? Of course not."

            He laughed and then explained to her, quite seriously, "Forgive me; I was an idiot."

            His admission was lost on the others who had begun to select the night's gift. George was busy tearing into a gift Kathy had picked out and she'd zeroed in on Trowa to offer him one as well. Quatre held out one for Bisho to open, but Duo gently declined.

            "I've got this one," he said, pulling an envelope out of his jacket pocket.

            He handed it to his sister and told her, "This came last week; I wanted to surprise you."

            She took the letter with a slight frown which disappeared when she recognized the return address. "The Inter Colony Scholarship Program?" she read. She glanced up at Duo for a brief instant before tearing into the letter. As she read, Duo met Quatre's gaze over her head and they exchanged smiles. It had taken no more than a phone call to alert Quatre to the fact that Bisho was applying for a private, college-preparatory school in the L4 area. She'd confessed a desire to learn all about space engineering. But she'd need help, help that the scholarship program Quatre's father had started years ago could certainly provide.

            Now, as she tore into the envelope, both dreading and hoping, Quatre, her silent benefactor, and Duo, her no-so-silent champion, smiled in satisfaction.

            She screamed. "Oh my God! Holy shit! Duo! Duo! They're paying for EVERYTHING! Look at this! Look at this, dammit! They're paying for all four years!"

            Obediently, Duo looked and tried to act surprised. On the other side of Bisho, Quatre smiled as he watched her unabashed joy.

            "And look! They're giving me a stipend! Oh my God. I can't spend all of this money."

            "I'm sure you'll find a way," Duo assured her.

            And then, suddenly, she turned to Quatre and shoved the letter under his nose. "Can you believe this?"

            Quatre just smiled at her and said, "They couldn't have the future's most brilliant Aerospace Engineer attending class in worn-out jeans and T-shirts, now could they?"

            She just grinned, too full of emotion to say anything, so full of emotion that her eyes were tearing. When one spilled down over her cheek, Quatre gently wiped it away.

            "So, you're going to accept the scholarship?"

            "Are you insane?" she gasped out. "Of course I am."

            "Then it looks like, this June, we're going to be neighbors."

            It was in that instant that she realized that her education would take her away from her new family. She worried her lip between her teeth and sought out Duo. He read the concern in her eyes and chuckled. "Hey, kid. I've got six more months left to drive you nuts. You'll be glad to leave. Besides, Quatre's going to be here to keep you company. Now, if you'll excuse me, Taki has some chocolate with my name on it."

            "Hey, grab me some," Bisho called after him. He waved a hand over his shoulder and she smiled. Quatre couldn't help but smile, too. After a year, time had only made her that much more beautiful. Someday soon, she was going to grow up and be absolutely breathtaking. At least, that was what Quatre thought.

            Heero watched all of this with a blank face, considering grabbing his coat and heading for the spaceport. The next flight was tomorrow at noon. He could wait at the terminal. He'd just about finished planning his departure when Kathy shoved a present at him. He looked down at the thing in his hands and then back up at Trowa's sister, Trowa's family, Trowa's home.

            It was obvious he didn't belong here.

            Kathy said, "I don't know who it's from, but it's got your name on it."

            So it did. He sighed as he turned the small, thin thing over in his hands. Briefly, he considered leaving without opening it, but he found himself gently prying the wrapping apart at its seams before he could stop himself. The box puzzled him. It looked like a jewelry box, but of course no one would have dared to give him such a frivolous item.

            He pried the lid off and sifted through the paper until he'd found a yellowed newspaper clipping entitled "War Hero Dies Saving Town." He frowned, skimming the article. It was about a decorated soldier who'd defended a small town and its people from a random mercenary attack. He'd been on leave with his two children and had had only himself and an old, rusted-out mobilesuit, but he'd managed to protect the civilians anyway. Heero studied the man's black and white photograph, which had been inset into the text. He mentally shook his head and set the paper aside.

            But that was not the only thing the box contained. Beneath the article was a photograph. In it, he recognized the soldier in the article. He was kneeling with two children. _His_ children by the pride on his face and the way he held them in his arms. There was a girl of about six years standing on his left with her hand on his shoulder. She faced the camera squarely, her face very serious and solemn. The other child was being tickled by his father's right hand. The boy, no more than two, laughed at the camera with his father.

            Something sparked inside of Heero as he looked at the child. The child with unruly brown hair and cobalt eyes. His gaze slid to the girl, who also possessed the same wild hair and dark eyes. He looked again at the man. Although his hair was shaved close to his skull, his dark blue eyes were impossible to overlook.

           His hand shaking, Heero turned the photograph over. There was a short description penned on the back in aged ink: "Here we are outside of the Johnstownne-Whyte Base, just the three of us." What followed was a list of three names followed by their titles: father, daughter, and son.

            Heero swallowed twice as he looked back at the image. He saw it then, the undeniable likeness to Yokaze that the young girl bore. And the unavoidable similarity of himself to that little boy.

            His mind began to race with the adrenaline that pumped through his veins. _No. No, no, no, no. It can't be._ He swallowed twice as he fished the name tag out of the wrappings and studied the handwriting. He was fighting a knot of pain in his throat when he placed the undisciplined scrawl. With a strangled sound, Heero turned back to the box. There was more. There had to be.

            And there was.

            It wasn't much.

            It was a note, a simple note that read: "You were right.

            "Mission completed."

**.**

**            Duo paused in **the act of entering the bedroom. He was sure that Quatre had told him this was his room. Was it possible that Quatre had forgotten? That he'd become just a tad bit disoriented by all that celebrating? At the sight of Heero standing at the window, staring out into the blackness of this Christmas morning, Duo was sure that there'd been some mistake. If Heero was in this room, then it could not possibly be Duo's.

            Duo shifted his weight, preparing to close the door silently behind him when he saw the Christmas present Heero had opened just a half an hour ago. It had been laid out on the empty desk: a newspaper article and a photograph. Curiosity getting the better of him, Duo leaned forward to get a closer look at the people in the picture. His eyes widened as he recognized first one child and then the other.

            "That's me and my sister," a very quiet, controlled voice said.

            Duo glanced up, but Heero was still staring out into the night, shoulders stiff, back ramrod straight.

            "That's..." he started, unable to stop himself from speaking it.

            "Yes," Heero agreed. "That's Yokaze."

            Duo couldn't believe it. It was true. Really and truly true. "Who gave you this?" he asked. And then he paused. For, as soon as the words had left his mouth, he knew. He _knew._

            "She's..." This time, he was afraid to say it, afraid to bring hope into a room where it might not survive.

            "Yes," Heero said, again. There was a pause and Duo finally stepped into the room and closed the door. He saw the name tag with her penmanship etched on it. He saw the card with her cryptic statements.

            Into Duo's contemplative silence, Heero spoke once more. "All this time, I thought she was dead. I thought..."

           Duo looked up at Heero's hesitation, sensing something deeply painful buried in the words he deliberately forced out.

            "She... went into the base for me. To free me. After all these years. To make up for leaving me behind. I thought my existence... I thought that _I'd_... killed her."

            Duo shivered at the raw pain in Heero's voice. He took a step toward the solitary figure.

            "It was because of me."

            Setting his overnight bag down, Duo took yet another step. He saw, in his mind, the last time he'd reached out to this wounded soldier. He heard the snarled words. He saw the barred teeth. He felt the icy rage. And yet he approached, even though this time could not possibly end any differently. In the end, Duo would be banished again. In the end, they would both leave this place scarred and alone.

            "Death follows me."

            Duo paused in his advance as Heero's seemingly disjointed declarations began to lock into each other.

            "Those who are close to me are... in danger."

            Violet eyes widened as everything fell into place.

            "It is better to be alone... to keep them safe."

            Duo took four more steps, nearly closing the distance between them. "Heero?"

            "She was my sister. I believed. I understood... and then I _saw_ the... the explosion... the flames..."

            "But, Heero," Duo said softly, "she's alive. She's safe."

            There was no reply and Duo continued, an ache in his voice, "You aren't alone anymore." And with this, Duo put his hand on Heero's shoulder.

            Instantly, Heero's opposite arm shot out, his fingers forming and iron clamp on Duo's wrist. Heero's tension was immediate and predictable. Not bothering to struggle, Duo closed his eyes for a moment, resigning himself to the fact that nothing had changed at all. Heero was hurting—still, always—and yet when Duo reached out—as he always did—it would be he, the one offering Heero an escape in comfort, who gained another scar.

            Dou sighed. He hated it when he was right.

            He could sense Heero turning to face him. He could imagine the hate or the anger or—worse—the indifference in those dark blue eyes. How had things gone so wrong? Didn't Heero understand the basic premise that Duo couldn't stop himself from giving a damn? God knew, he'd tried. He'd also wondered if he should have socked Heero in the jaw every time he looked upset instead of giving him a shoulder to glare on. But, the truth was this: Duo cared. That flaw was Duo's alone. And he would be punished for it every time he reached out to heal the pain Heero insisted on keeping so close to him.

            His eyes still closed, Duo insisted, "You're not alone. Even though you've told yourself that's the only thing you've ever wanted in this world. You're not alone."

            Long moments passed. The hold on Duo's wrist didn't budge. Finally, unable to stand the dark, uncertain silence any longer, Duo opened his eyes.

            But instead of encountering all of the unresolved rage from all those months ago, he saw tears. Heero stood before him, tears fighting their way down his face. He made no move to conceal this pain that he'd denied for so long. He released it for Duo to see and both of them knew that Duo would be the only one to ever witness it. At Heero's next words, Duo felt his surprise melt into the compassion and hope he'd tried so hard to ignore.

            In a near whisper, Heero said, "I'm sorry, Duo."

            Heero wavered where he stood, fighting the need to give in to the only thing that could heal him. Duo sensed none of this. His attention was riveted on the tortured gaze. Unable to do otherwise, he reached out to wipe a single tear from the unblemished flesh. As if the tear were conducting an electric current, a thing—a tangible connection—passed between them. It was Heero's undoing.

            The perfect soldier surrendered to his exhaustion, his pain, his grief, his fear and collapsed against Duo's chest, his silent tears running unchecked into the other youth's shirt. Duo brought his arms around the strong shoulders and held him, feeling the desperate clutch of Heero's fists on his back.

            "It's alright, now," Duo told him. "I'm here and your sister's alive. You aren't alone anymore."

            Heero leaned against the comforting warmth of his friend's strong embrace. He smelled the traces of sweat from the long walk Duo'd had with Bisho on their sight-seeing journey from the spaceport. He smelled the traces of metal and oil that always seemed to cling to him. And he thought he smelled a hint of blood, the sting of gunpowder.

            Duo tucked his head down next to Heero's and rubbed his hands up and down the back heaving with slow, deep breaths.

            "You're not alone," he promised.

            Heero believed him. He gave himself to the strength of the enemy—another human being. He no longer had to call upon a forgotten vision to comfort him. He had found his dream in the arms of this soldier: Duo. Duo Maxwell. Shinigami. Death.

_            Death follows me._

            Heero smiled through his pain. Death _had_ followed him at every painful turn, even into this very room at one-thirty on Christmas morning.

            "Thank you, Duo," he whispered.

            Duo's only reply was to run his fingers through the familiar, unruly brown hair, feathering it away from his skull. Heero silently sighed into the touch and understood that he had feared needlessly. Duo was safe. Duo would always be safe, for Duo was Death. And Heero knew that for him there could be no other companion.

            He was home. 

**.**

**            He was bleeding. **As Trowa stared down at the untouched chessboard, he felt the memories of last Christmas burn away at the barrier of ice he'd been nurturing for so many months. The scars of her death, while hidden, had never healed and they oozed now, pouring their grief into his veins. And he ached with the loss as if it had not been nearly twelve months ago, but twelve days.

_            "Trowa, care for a game?"_

            Eyes riveted on the chessboard, Trowa remembered the last game he'd played. He saw the pieces frozen in motion. Unfinished.

            She was dead. That solid fact left no room for completion. And yet, he had to force himself to not glance at the door. He had to force himself to not believe that any moment now, she would ring the bell and he would answer it. He had to tell himself that she was not coming this Christmas. That she would not come again. 

            At the thought, Trowa felt the chill of the walls inside of him push out, caressing his skin. He shivered. He tore his eyes away from the promise of a fresh game and glanced at the sliding doors that lead out to the balcony. He needed a distraction, something to help rebuild his defenses. He reached for the lock and disengaged it with a smart snap.

            It was well below freezing outside, and Trowa welcomed the chill into his being. Carefully, he closed the door behind him and wrapped his long hands around the sleek, steel bars of the balcony's top rail. As he'd expected, it conducted the chill directly into his veins and arteries. He closed his eyes as control once again fell over him. The regret and the grief was carefully sucked back into the oubliette in his soul.

            He hadn't expected to care. He hadn't wanted to. Had tried not to. Every day he tried to not think of her. And every day, he failed. She was everywhere. At the circus, he saw her adjusting the trapeze or tinkering with a truck engine. Every colony he visited had a building that reminded him of her home on L2. In truth, it was not the things around him that reminded him of her. It was himself. She had given him so much. She had _changed_ him. And he felt that change with every breath he drew. She had become a part of him in the short time he had known her. And he had not been prepared for the separation. He wasn't sure that he would ever be.

            He didn't pretend that he knew anything about her. She was a mystery to him, as she always had been. But he couldn't help but see her face as she'd woven the music around her. He couldn't help but see his own carefully sheltered emotions in her face. Everything that was in his heart had been there in her eyes, upon her voice. And then she had looked through the crowd, directly at him. In that instant, something had passed between them. At the time, Trowa had marveled at his weakness for music. What a pathetic lie. He knew his weakness now.

            He released a slow breath, opening his eyes to watch his breath plume white against the dark dome of the colony. And, as he watched the small cloud rise and disperse, he heard the soft strains of a song. He considered retreating into the apartment. For months, he'd shunned the very sound of anything musical. For, inevitably, he was reminded. But, this time he hesitated. Later he would wonder why he had not gone in immediately. Perhaps it was the softness, the haunting quality that matched his dreams in perfect unison. Perhaps it was because he wasn't sure if he was really hearing it; perhaps it _was_ one of his dreams that had come to haunt his waking hours. Either way, he remained standing in the dark until the gust of cold wind shifted and brought the words down to his ears.

_            "… better than chocolate..."_

            For a moment, his mind remained completely blank. It took him a moment to recognize the song he knew by heart. And then, for a moment, his mind reeled in silent surprise. He was dreaming. He must be. Soon, he would awake and find that he had dreamed of coming out onto this balcony. He would realize that he had dreamed he'd heard her voice coming from the apartment above. He waited, relaxed and confidant and reassured that none of this was real.

_            "... knows how to cry..."_

            He waited, but felt only the rising of gooseflesh along his arms. He glanced up at the apartment on the next floor although the balcony above him obscured any view. He frowned as the voice hummed the melody of the song, a song he knew all too well. Was it possible that he _wasn't _dreaming? Was it possible that she was alive? And so close?

            He had barely considered his options before he found himself closing the balcony door and then the apartment door behind him. He wouldn't have bothered waiting for the elevator, but the doors were open, as if his thoughts had beckoned the thing. Once again, he considered the possibility that he was asleep, but his finger punched the button for the next floor just the same.

            He knew that she couldn't be alive. No one could have survived the explosion and her remains had been identified. He knew she was gone, but he couldn't seem to stop himself from investigating the whisper of a song that had reached him on the balcony and resurrected something very alive and frightened inside of him.

            Yokaze was dead. He would only cause himself more pain tonight. And Trowa knew that if he had taken the stairs, he would have paused at this moment and turned back to Quatre's place. But he was in an elevator climbing for the next floor. So he waited, and remembered the moment he'd seen that piece of himself inside of her, the part of himself that he hadn't known was missing. He'd seen in her the possibilities of the future—his future and hers. And that wisp of vision she had taken with her. 

            The elevator stopped. The doors glided open silently.

            He heard nothing in the hall. As the thought of turning back occurred to him, Trowa crossed the threshold onto the eighth floor. This floor, like floor seven, was comprised solely of a single apartment. The door was too well constructed to allow any light to find its way through the seams. As he approached it, he knew that he might very well wake someone from sound sleep. But as he stood there, facing the door, he thought he heard it again. Faint, but it was music.

            If he had been thinking rationally, he would have turned around and left. If he had been considering the facts, he would have chided himself and his childish dreams.

            He pressed the bell and waited.

            After a long moment, the door opened and the bright yellow glow of the room struck Trowa fully in the face. He squinted through the brilliance at the slim youth with dark, tousled hair who had answered the door. He felt his pulse kick up a beat.

            "Hello? Can I help you?"

            Trowa's eyes had begun to adjust to the light and with the sound of the voice, he realized finally that it was not Yokaze who stood before him, but a young man not much older than himself. Trowa pretended that the sinking feeling in his gut was not disappointment. Of course, she was not here. He felt like an idiot. But, he was here and he was curious, in spite of himself.

            "Excuse me," he began carefully, "I'm staying downstairs and I thought I heard a woman singing—"

            The youth in the door blushed. "Oh, I'm playing music. I'm sorry for disturbing you."

            "No, no," Trowa said quickly, quietly. "No, not at all. I..." Silence poured out from the inside of the suite. "It's not on now," he observed.

            "I'm changing the discs," the young man replied. "I'll be sure to keep the volume down, though."

            "No, it's not that. I'm here because I've heard that song before. Could you tell me who sings it?"

            The tenant seemed rather surprised by this soft-spoken request. After a moment, he grinned and claimed, "Actually that's NW. Have you heard of us?"

            "Us?"

            The youth held the door open wider. "Come on in; I'll introduce you. I'm Jarret, the piano player. NW, the lead singer, is here right now."

            Trowa stepped into the apartment and regarded his host. "NW?" he asked quietly as he followed the young man into the kitchen.

            "That's the name of the band. I don't know what it stands for. It's also the singer's name and she's never told any of us what _that_ stands for, either. I drives me crazy, wondering. Would you like some coffee?"

            Green eyes turned back to Jarret, who looked as if he'd had a few cups himself tonight. "Sure. Thanks."

            "No prob. So what do you think of the place?" Jarret chattered as he fussed about in the cupboards for a cup. Not waiting for a reply, he continued, "Six months ago I would have laughed in the face of anyone who told me I'd be here today."

            Making polite conversation, Trowa inquired, "Why is that?"

            Jarret handed him a steaming mug. "Cream? Sugar?"

            Trowa shook his head.

           "Well," Jarret continued. "Six months ago I was playing the keyboard and piano at bars for a meal. Then, one night, I'm walking out of there when this woman comes up to me and asks how would I like to earn more than just a meal with my talent? Well, I've been around, you know, so I think it's a con or a come-on. But, it turned out she was a musician herself and she needed a pianist."

            Jarret sighed. "God, learning to play the piano was the one thing I hated as a kid. All of us at the home had to learn to play some musical instrument. Required. But I never thought it would land me here."

            Trowa ignored his coffee and pressed for more information. "And the woman who sings?"

            Jarret nodded and leaned against the counter. "She plays the bass, too. There's six of us, total. But we're on vacation right now. Actually, I was kinda surprised when NW showed up the other day. She never said anything to me about visiting L4, but since she's here, you might as well meet her, huh?"

            At Jarret's first sentence, Trowa felt a world of hope swirl to life inside of him. He hated it—this hope. It made him weak and he knew it.

            Trowa finally sipped the coffee. It was quite strong. "What's she like?" He needed more information before he could afford to hope.

            Jarret paused to consider the question carefully. "She's—"

            "Right here."

            Both males turned at the smooth alto behind them. She was of above-average height, in her early to mid twenties. She was decked out in a pair of gray sweats, sleeveless turtleneck, and a pair of dark glasses. Her short brown hair was dark and limp and tousled from the shower. She smiled, shifting her gaze from Jarret to his guest.

            "Who's this?"

            "He's staying downstairs and heard one of our songs."

            "Oh? Sorry about that, Mister ...?"

            "Bloom," he replied automatically, trying not to give in to the urge to hit something. He had heard a woman's voice. He had recognized it as Yokaze's. He had recognized the song. But he did not know this woman, this singer. In fact, he was reasonably sure he'd never seen her before. On her right cheek, there was a single, thin scar that Yokaze had never had.

            "Are those glasses new?" Jarret asked.

            "Yeah. Bought 'em on L354. What do you think?"

            "You," he said. "Definitely you."

            "Is this the album?" Trowa asked discretely, picking up an empty case from the counter.

            Jarret grinned. "Yup, that's it. Cool design, huh?"

            Trowa ignored NW as she got herself a cup of the thick, strong brew. She sniffed and turned her hidden gaze on Jarret. "Good God, Jarret. Can you make this any thicker? My bike's a bit low on oil."

            Trowa had skimmed over the song list three times and he still didn't see the one he'd heard. He glanced up as Jarret scowled at her. "My joe is just fine."

            "For ulcers," she commented dryly.

            Perhaps it was the voice that made Trowa look just a bit harder at the woman called NW. "The song I heard isn't on here," he told them.

            "What _did_ you hear?" Jarret asked with a slight frown of puzzlement.

            NW was stirring an excessive amount of cream into her coffee. Trowa didn't take his eyes off of her as he replied, "Something about chocolate and knowing how to cry."

            Jarret put down his cup with a loud clunk. "NW were you singing in the shower again?"

            "It's good practice," she replied flatly.

_            This _voice he knew. _This_ tone. _That _expression, though concealed behind the stylish glasses. The slight tremor of hope started to rattle outward from his chest, making his hands shake ever so slightly.

            Oblivious to Trowa's near-revelation, Jarret teased. "Good practice. Hah. And what are these specs for? Practicing your stage image?" He plucked them from her nose.

            And then Trowa saw her eyes. Her _cobalt_ eyes.

            She turned the full force of her gaze on him just as the significance of her initials hit him square in the abdomen.

            NW.

            Night wind.

            Yokaze.

            Although his face revealed nothing, he felt her reading what was churning beneath the surface. Before he could think to say the name on his tongue, she was speaking to Jarret. "Well, it's late. And Mr. Bloom has what he's come for." The blue eyes settled on Jarret's guest once more. "I'll walk you down to your suite," she offered, setting her own cup down.

            Jarret set her a quizzical look. "Are you sure that's wise?"

            A crooked smile formed over her mouth as she recalled the last time she'd been alone with this man. "No," she replied.

            The word rocketed through Trowa as he realized that she must be remembering their last, painful encounter. 

            She told them both: "But I'm going to do it anyway."

**.**

**            The elevator doors **closed in front of them and started its slow descent. After a full second of silence, Trowa unfolded his arms and pressed the emergency stop button. The contraption came to an abrupt halt but neither occupant seemed to notice. Blue eyes clashed with green as they weighed the short history of pain between them.

            Slowly, his gaze moved over her. There was so much to say. There were so many questions. How had she survived? Had she truly been inside the building at the time of the explosion? Whose remains now rested in a memorial meant for her? But, even as all of these unknowns scrolled through Trowa's mind, he ignored them. She was alive. The rest was inconsequential to him.

            He said bluntly, quietly, "I owe you a name."

            She shot him unreadable look. "I already have the name I want. You owe me nothing."

            This was met with a moment of silence. Finally, his gaze softened a degree. He turned to face her, looked deeper into her dark eyes, and told her, "The Zero System was a brilliantly engineered accomplishment. Have you ever piloted it?"

            He saw her small start in the flickering of her lashes. In her surprise, she offered no reply. Which was just as well; he already knew her answer.

            "To master it," he continued, "one must master oneself. And yet..." His face did not change expression although his gaze grew more intense as the words came to him. "And _still_, my discipline is nothing if I cannot stop myself from caring for a stranger." His eyes never left her, never wavered in their silent message. Slowly, he held out a single hand to her. "And I have found that I cannot do otherwise."

            She looked down at his outstretched hand, contemplating the gesture, considering his words. He trusted her, he cared for her, and so he offered himself to her. They didn't know each other. To each, the other was a mystery. But, to each there was something of the other reflected in the stranger's soul. It was a connection that neither understood but, at last, both accepted.

            She replied truthfully, "That wasn't what I expected to hear."

            He watched her quietly. "I know."

            She moved then, lifting her gaze to his. A wealth of meaning they would never try to put into words passed between them. And then, very deliberately, she reached out to him and touched him for the first time. In the complete silence of the stalled elevator, he threaded their hands together. He could feel her pulse as it traveled through her hand. For a moment, they simply stood letting the reality of this minute sink into them. Then, with his other hand, Trowa reached for the elevator's controls and resumed their journey.

**.**

**~End of Aftermath~**


	24. Epilogue

**The Perfect Soldier**

**Epilogue**

**.**

**            The pain is intense **but, at the same time, it falls dully against the prone figure, as if it has traveled miles to arrive at its destination. Forever is sitting upon the closed eyelids whispering to the mind, creating a picture of quiet, of oblivion, of numbness. But the urge to awake is instinctual and inevitable. With a slight frown, the cobalt eyes flicker open.

            The white.

            The eyelids move to shield the pupils from the painful glare of the colony light on the pale linens. Lying silent and hurting under the white fabric, the figure takes in this new, pain-filled world.

            And thinks: _I am alive._

            Blinking, the sluggish mind digests this as it attempts to understand the place it has come into. A sheet. A bed. A white room. An uncovered window. A hospital.

            At this moment, the cobalt eyes are aching; the pain is intensified by the white. Another thought runs through the numb but turbulent mind: _Is there no other color in this place?_

            "Good afternoon, miss."

            A pleasant voice spills into the figure's ears. A moment later, a kind, maternal face smiles from above, eclipsing the glare of the sun.

            "How are you feeling?"

            The figure on the bed does not try to reply with words. The young mouth stretches slowly into a small grin, the blue eyes close for a moment as a sigh comes up from the unexercised lungs.

            When the eyes open once more, it is to the ragged cityscape of an L1 colony. It is early morning and a single duffle bag is clutched in the left first. The gaze is glancing off over a shoulder. The figure turns back to the forward and confronts a memorial. Extending out to the perimeter of the colony, lines of memorial stones form their silent, marching columns. And, directly at the feet of the youth, rests a single stone for a young woman who had been called Heero Yuy.

            The figure sucks a small breath of cool, dry air into its lungs as the significance of the name strikes home.

_            He has died with me..._

            Tears press against the cobalt eyes, but this is not the time to mourn for the young man. This is the time to mourn for the soldier buried here. The soldier, who had never been a child but who had never seen her ninth birthday, one of the creatures to have been borne of a young girl's harvested DNA, _that_ soldier's remains now rests in this place.

            A shuttle is approaching. The grind of the colony's spaceport gears and roar of the engines disrupts the morning calm. The figure turns in the direction of the city. It is time to go. It is time to leave the past behind and begin again...

**.**

**            Cobalt eyes were **slowly revealed as the figure on the bed came awake to the L4 dawn. For a moment, Heero Yuy thought of nothing as the early light tumbled through the windows. And then slowly, as if a warm embrace was softly stealing around him, he remembered the dream. He let out a slow breath.

            He had dreamed of her, his sister.

            Heero almost smiled as he watched the false sun climb a fraction higher across the colony's dome. For the first time, he was free to think of her, free from the relentless guilt and loss that had permeated his existence over these past months.

            A movement behind him pulled at his memory of the night before and he turned, slowly, to see his best friend shifting in his sleep. Duo's angelic face was framed by his dark turtleneck and loosened honey-brown hair. Although still deep in sleep, he was attempting to burrow further into the warmth of the blankets and the dark of the shadows created by Heero's body.

            Quietly, Heero got up from the bed and drew the curtains closed. He turned to the room's most comfortable chair, which boasted a blanket neatly folded and thrown over the arm. When Heero turned back to the slumbering young man, his face held a soft smile. He was aware of his expression and the miracle of Duo's caring that had made it possible. For so long, he had pushed Duo and the emotions he awakened away. Heero found it odd that the transition of acceptance had been so easy.

            He carefully tucked the blanket around the turtleneck and jean-clad figure. It was a bit cool in the room, which made Heero realize that he should have adjusted the room's thermostat last night. He did so now and headed for the desk.

            In silence, he collected his things. He paused in the act of reassembling the gift of his past, his gaze lingering on the photograph of himself and his sister. He saw in her serious gaze a soul that had already started down the road to soldierhood. The shadows in her eyes whispered of death and battle. As if she'd sensed the bleak, dark path ahead of her, she stared at the camera, standing guard over her father and younger brother.

            This was the girl who would soon come into the organization's possession. This was the girl who would become the first soldier trained as a gundam pilot. This would be the perfect soldier. Or, rather, she would be half of it. Heero traced the outline of her face with his fingertips. For a long time now, he had understood the significance of that title: the perfect soldier. It represented two individuals who had been trained to act the same, adjusted to look the same, taught to be the same person. Without each other they were nothing more than excellent soldiers. Only together could they be the perfection envisioned by the organization.

            Shortly after he'd received word of her death, he'd realized that. He'd understood that without her he could never be the perfect soldier. He'd also understood that without her there could never be a home, a family, a place to belong. The latter had surprised him. It would have surprised the General. Surely none of the scientists or strategists could have known that he and Zero-one would eventually look to each other and see a home. Although he was reasonably sure that Dr. J had suspected this for some years.

            Heero carefully repacked the photograph and the clipping and the note. It was getting late and he needed to get going.

            With his hand on the knob, he glanced back at Duo and paused. Never had he guessed the strength in another person's arms. Never had he known the peace and the healing that came with a friend. They had only been a whisper in his dream.

            He knew these secrets now.

            Silently, he slipped from the room. He closed the door softly but heard something else over the sound. He straightened and turned his gaze to the short hall leading to the common room. Someone was already awake. And from the sound of silverware clinking against china, he had ordered room service.

            Heero started toward the common room, thinking that he would have to be on his way soon, that he had to find her. He regretted leaving this new-found friendship behind, but he knew that while Duo would not be happy about being left here, he could not blame Heero for leaving.

            The sound of a voice drifted down the hall. Trowa's voice. He was speaking to someone. Heero was not surprised that Trowa was awake at dawn, but he thought it odd that someone else was also up. He frowned as he listened to Trowa's footsteps, softened by the plush carpeting, disappear down the hall that ran along the opposite side of the common room. Still, Heero could hear the sound of someone pouring liquid (probably coffee) into a cup and stirring in either cream or sugar.

            It was with a frown that he turned the corner to confront the early riser. For a moment, he saw no one. And then the sound of breath being expelled over the rim of a cup caught his attention. He turned to see someone—a friend of Trowa's, no doubt—perched in the chair Heero had occupied last night at the table displaying the chessboard. The opposite place was empty except for a lone cup of steaming coffee. Wrapping both hands around her own cup, the stranger inhaled the steam.

            He did not recognize her short, spiky hair or her profile. But when she glanced in his direction, he found that he couldn't move. A few seconds ago, he had not known this woman from Eve. But he _knew_ those cobalt eyes.

            She offered him a level, affectionate stare. "Good morning."

            Heero stared back at her. His initial shock was slowly giving way to both wariness of her excellent timing and elation at her presence. He took a step closer and then another. She watched him with large eyes reading his tension and disbelief. When he was close enough to touch, she put her coffee down, her gaze never leaving his. For a long moment, they remained thus. Not speaking. Not moving. And then, as if he were sleepwalking, Heero put out his hand and touched first her hair and then her temple and finally her cheek, tracing the thin line of raised flesh.

            And still she waited.

            His thumb moved back and forth across her skin, reveling in its resilience, in its _realness_.

            For the second time this morning, Heero Yuy's expression gentled. He whispered to her, "It's you."

            "It's me," she replied, standing.

            He was taller than her by an inch or so now. A distinction Duo would have greatly appreciated all those months ago. She reached up and brushed a few wayward locks of hair away from his eyes and silently read his thoughts in them. The relief that he'd found her, the strange freedom of finality, the fear of having almost lost this moment forever. But then he blinked and those things were gone. In their place was a warm, knowing look.

            "Merry Christmas," he rasped.

            The gift of his acceptance washed through her completely. She remembered the last gift he'd given her and stepped into the circle of his arms to press her left cheek to his. And when she leaned away, she held his gaze and whispered a single, simple sentence: "Thank you."

            And he remembered, too. His gaze went to her left cheek and he traced a single line on her skin with a calloused fingertip where her scar—his gift—would have been.

            "I didn't get you anything," he told her, his expression serious.

            She grinned and wondered if she could explain to him how she felt about that:

            And as far as beginnings went, this was more than enough.

**.**

**~End of Epilogue~**


	25. Conclusion

**The Perfect Soldier**

**Conclusion**

**.**

**            He stared down** at the memorial at his feet, his gaze tracing the raised, bronze letters. This was the resting place of his best achievement, his singularly perfect creation. And now she was dust, just as the others—her sisters, her clones—were dust. She had defeated the best of them, proving, for the last time, her ingenuity and strength.

            The cold, ice-blue eyes gazed down at the monument, remembering all that he had done... and all that he had lost. Over twenty years of his life had been spent in the pursuit of perfection. He had re-designed this colony, constructed the once-invincible base, trained the perfect soldier.

            What a different place the world would have been if his strength had matched hers. What a different war human beings would have fought if she'd remained and fulfilled her destiny. What a different man he would be today if not for her cunning betrayal.

            He studied his wasted body, confined to this wretched chair. The falling debris of the explosion had crushed his spinal chord. He blamed her for that.

            He also loved her for that.

            She was his best, his first, his only masterpiece.

            He felt the restlessness build in him as he stared at her grave. Silently, he counted his assets: a steady voice, a pair of good eyes, ears, and hands, and a sound mind. This chair would not stop him from trying again and again. He relished the thought of creating a soldier superior to her. He wondered if this next creation would truly be the death of him.

            He smiled.

            "Are you ready to go, General?"

            The silver-blue gaze caressed the grave marker.

            "Yes," he said and the orderly resumed his place behind the wheelchair.

            As the monuments marched past him, the general looked on, feeling the gaze and the admiration of the dead, more than half of which had, at one time, belonged to him. The general sighed and realized that he could do nothing other than continue his search. The perfect soldier was still out there, waiting to be born.

**.**

**~End~**


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